


Beautiful Vulnerability

by Jaysop



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Brief Mention of Blood, Delirium, Emetophilia, Established Relationship, Fever, Fluff, Food Poisoning, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Heavy Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Mind Palace, Motion Sickness, Nausea, Panic Attacks, Post Season 3, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Season 1 hannigram, Seperation Anxiety, Sick!Hannibal, Sickfic, Sickness, Tumblr Prompt, Vomiting, Vulnerable!Hannibal, carsickness, comforting!Hannibal, comforting!Will - Freeform, incarcerated murder husbands au, sick!will, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaysop/pseuds/Jaysop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal hides being sick from WIll, as if it is a sign of weakness, as if it somehow makes him less desirable in Will's eyes. When Will is sick Hannibal can sense it, can smell it on him, and he thinks perhaps Will's self control makes him even more attractive.</p>
<p>Just a little collection of tumblr prompt sickfics involving Hannibal and Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone <3
> 
> I hope you all like these as much as I enjoy writing them. Just a few little short drabbles but since I haven't written much lately I thought I would share.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> hello your emeto-anon has returned! Sorry I have been away for so long! But I adored your response to my last ask. <3 I love seeing Hannibal laid low and vulnerable like that. Which leads me to this idea: imagine Hannibal feeling under the weather in the middle of one of his feasts. Something he ate is really not agreeing with him, and he's trying so hard to keep himself together in front of his many guests. Will is surprised by the control he has, but that can only last so long...
> 
> jay-sop:
> 
> Oh emeto-anon I’ve missed you!! And your prompt is too tempting to resist~~

Will hated these big lavish affairs. He found them to be dull and boring, all the women dressed up for each other, and the men strutting like peacocks in over priced suits, none of them looking as put together and alluring as Hannibal who seemed to always relish in the attention. 

Silently, Will sipped at the champagne in the long stemmed glass he had been offered, wishing it was something stronger so he could dull his senses enough to tolerate the rest of the night. 

The meal set before them had been extravagant, as meals served at Hannibal’s table always were. Will had only picked at his food absently, wishing the guests might all vanish if he concentrated hard enough. The only thing that kept him from slipping out to his car was the satisfaction of watching Hannibal in his element, a paragon of refinement and grace, the perfect host, and knowing that when it was all over they could be alone. Will would wait but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t a stretch of his patience. 

As the night dragged on, Will noticed a change in Hannibal’s demeanor. The light in his eyes seemed to dull, and Will couldn’t help but notice too the finger that kept slipping under his collar, fidgeting with his tie.

“Honestly,” Will said taking another glass of champagne and depositing his empty one in its place, “I don’t see the point. The pageantry, the fanfare of these little events of yours…its just so…wearisome. I get as much enjoyment out of this as sitting on a public bus…”

Will smiled thinly as one of the guest caught his eye and nodded a hello in his direction. He silently hoped she wouldn’t approach forcing him to engage in yet another painfully boring conversation. There was no response from Hannibal who just swallowed audibly, tiny beads of perspiration cropping up on his hairline. Will sensed something was off, and he wondered how long he could let this play out before Hannibal finally confided in him. 

Another glass finished, Will sighed his patience waning. Hannibal was talking with someone and Will only offered a fake thin smile and a nod of acknowledgement, eyes scanning the room for another glass of overly expensive champagne. Instead he found himself studying Hannibal’s sudden decline. All the color seemed to have drained away from his face. He spoke slower than usual, swallowing hard between words. A hand delicately lingered by the opening of his waistcoat. 

“You are not well,” Will said under his voice, more of a comment than a question. Hannibal’s eyes darted away from him, as he sucked in a deep breath.

“I’m perfectly fine.” He almost choked on the words, eyes closing for a second while he regained his composure. 

“Ok,” Will said, giving Hannibal a sideways glance. “Excuse me if I disagree.”

Hannibal sighed, once again trying to pull himself together. His stomach turned uncomfortably, and he winced. A wave of nausea rolled over him, making his legs unsteady. Will caught him by the arm.

“Alright, come with me,” Will started to lead him away from the busy dining room, “Unless of course you want your guests to watch you get sick right here.”

“Will, your overreacting. I told you I was–” a hand covered his mouth and Hannibal tasted bile beginning to rise in his throat. 

“Yes, you’re fine, I can see that.” Will guided Hannibal by the arm into the next room and down the hall where they slipped almost unnoticed into the bathroom, Will locking the door behind them. 

The motion of walking the short distance had made Hannibal’s face burn, the nausea almost too much to suppress. He stood in front of the sink and let the water run cold, splashing it over his face. The eyes that stared back at him from the mirror looked like a ghost. Will’s reflection was full of sarcasm, concern lighting up in his eyes underneath the “I told you so” that was just dying to come out. Hannibal coughed roughly, a hand coming to his mouth to cover it.

“Don’t you know by now you can’t lie to me?” Will said a comforting hand coming to rest at Hannibal’s back. “Here…let me help you…”

Will slipped Hannibal’s jacket off of broad shoulders and then gently loosened his tie. Hannibal’s breath was coming a bit too fast now, and even when he thought he might be able to control it his chest heaved as he gasped for more air, not seeming to get enough of it into his lungs. 

“Let’s get this over with shall we?” Will said, leading him to kneel in front of the toilet. Hannibal burped and swallowed an abortive heave. 

“It hurts…” Hannibal sighed, finally confessing to Will that he was indeed sick. Will knelt down beside him and tried to soothe his stomach, a heavy hand rubbing circles in his back.

“Do you trust me?” Hannibal’s eyes floated up to meet Will’s and he nodded weakly. Will repositioned himself behind Hannibal who coughed again. He began to shiver. 

“Just relax,” Will whispered, one hand coming to rest on Hannibal’s stomach. With his free hand he forced two fingers into Hannibal’s throat. 

Hannibal’s eyes went wide with indignant surprise. He tensed for a moment and then gagged against Will’s fingers. Will released him and Hannibal spit into the water, saliva trailing off his chin. 

Again, Will pushed his fingers to the back of Hannibal’s throat pressing on his tongue. This time when Hannibal gagged harshly a thin dribble of vomit coated Will’s hand and splashed into water. Hannibal spit again and moaned, snatching a quick breath. 

“That’s it, its almost over,” Will whispered as his fingers found their way again into Hannibal’s mouth. It didn’t take much this time for Hannibal to heave and retch violently, a stream of vomit splashing hard into the water. 

Will sat back on his heels as Hannibal brought the rest up by himself, retching a third and a fourth time. His hands gripped the porcelain with white knuckled fingers as he gagged again, finally empty but still shaking.

Will pulled him back into his arms and smoothed his damp hair out of his face as Hannibal struggled to remember how to breathe again. Will placed a gentle kiss to Hannibal’s forehead and held him in silence until his breathing slowed.

“Feel better?” Will whispered the question against Hannibal’s cheek. Hannibal responded, his voice nearly shredded,

“Much.”

~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> emeto-anon back again~~! <3 Your response to my last ask literally had me breathless. Amazing. The thought of Hannibal being so stubborn that Will actually had to help him get sick is all I've been thinking about since I read it. But, I want to switch things up a bit this time. Imagine Will getting carsick while on a drive with Hannibal. There's nowhere to pull over, and Will can't swallow all of his rapidly producing saliva fast enough.
> 
> jay-sop:
> 
> emeto-anon, I’m so glad you liked it. :) 
> 
> And you will be the death of me (but in a totally good way of course) with these prompts. Whatever did I do to deserve them? 

“We are nearly there,” Hannibal cooed, his voice only a breath above the soft notes of Chopin’s nocturne no. 2 that filled the little spaces of silence in the car as they made their way down a sleepy country road, full of twists and turns that Will thought perhaps Hannibal was taking a bit too fast. It’s not like there was any rush to reach their destination. The cabin would still be there waiting for them nestled deep in the Appalachians, whether they made it there quickly or not. 

But Hannibal seemed to be enjoying himself, opening up the engine on the straight-aways, almost drifting around the turns with the ease of a seasoned driver, leaving a trail of autumn leaves swirling in his wake. Hannibal’s mood had been somewhat euphoric since Will had agreed to accompany him on this little weekend getaway, just the two of them, to Hannibal’s retreat in the mountains. Will just wished he would express his elation in a more normal manner, instead of driving the car like he stole it. 

Will swallowed hard against the lump that was forming in his throat. He tried to focus on the horizon. Or maybe it was better to look at a spot on the dash that wasn’t in constant motion? Neither trick helped. They flew around a curve and up an incline, and Will had to brace himself against the dash when he was sure the car caught air on the way back down.

“Hannibal, as much as you seem to be enjoying this,” Will choked out, “would it kill you to slow down a bit?”

Hannibal glanced at Will, a raised eyebrow in his direction. Will couldn’t tell if he was enjoying the drive or his apparent misery more. 

“My apologies, Will,” Hannibal soothed easing off the gas for what Will thought was the first time the entire trip. “Its difficult to keep an eye on my speed on these desolate roads.”

It didn’t seem to help much. Will could taste bile beginning to rise in the back of his throat, the motion of the landscape swirling past his window making his head swim. He swallowed roughly again as saliva began to pool under his tongue. He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs for as long as he could, trying to will away the nausea that had crept over him. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Hannibal asked, a hand gently placed on WIll’s knee. Will closed his eyes for a minute. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough he could pull himself together.

“I’m..I’m fine…just not used to being in the car for so long…” 

The music swelled and finished. When Will opened his eyes they had begun to to climb. The engine struggled as they made their way higher, the road narrowing, a sheer drop off appearing on their right out Will’s window. Will took another deep breath and laid his head back. His anxiety started to rise. 

“Just relax, Will. This is the pinnacle. When we reach the summit I promise you a view like nothing you’ve ever seen.” Hannibal still kept the physical contact, his hand warm and protective against Will’s thigh. Will was silently wishing he’d keep both hands on the wheel, but Hannibal, as always, seemed calm, cool, collected, as if there wasn’t a 100 foot drop only a half a meter to their right, and no guard rail to save them.

That was a mistake, looking over the dizzying edge. Everything in his head seemed to be in motion even when he closed his eyes. And perhaps that was making things worse. He laid his head back again against the head rest, a hand coming to rest on his sour stomach. 

“Will, you look sick,” Hannibal said taking his eyes off the road for longer than Will thought was necessary to look him over, a concerned expression lighting his eyes. Will was beginning to hyperventilate, his breathing rapid and shallow. He swallowed audibly, finding it hard even to respond to Hannibal’s statement of the obvious. 

“No…shit….” Will mumbled, a wave of nausea washing over him, making him grit his teeth just to keep from throwing up. The rising elevation was creating an uncomfortable pressure in his head, and although Hannibal was speaking shushes to him, trying to soothe away his anxiety, Will knew he couldn’t last much longer. He squeezed his eyes shut and a pained moan escaped him as he cradled his stomach. 

Near the top of the pinnacle the road turned from pavement to dirt and gravel and the car dipped as they made the transition. 

That was all it took.

“Hannibal,” Will’s words were muffled by the hand he had clamped over his mouth, “pull over.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Hannibal said, the realization that he had taken this little game a bit too far finally hitting him. 

Will was silent for a moment. He stifled the first gag, tried to swallow it back down, but immediately the vile taste made him retch painfully, vomit spraying from between clenched fingers, some of it ending up on the dash, most of it pooling in Will’s lap.

He took his hand away and surveyed the damage. The sight of his own sick sloshing in his lap with the motion of the car made him gag again, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as it emptied all over the interior of Hannibal’s car.

Hannibal remained stoically still, a hand at Will’s back and he leaned forward and continued to retch, muscles tensing below Hannibal’s fingers, bringing up a thin stream that pooled between his legs on the floor. Vomit and saliva trailed off his chin as he gasped for air, finally catching a glimpse of Hannibal who had stopped the car, their destination reached, eyes on Will in his helpless state.

Will braced himself against the dash, and rode out a few final dry heaves, his stomach still intent on rebelling against him. Even though the car had finally stopped he still felt as if they were in motion and had to look outside to reassure himself. His eyes met Hannibal who had come around to the passenger side door and opened it, silently offering Will a hand. He took it and let Hannibal pull him from the wreckage.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hannibal soothed, letting Will lean heavily against him as they walked together.

“I hate you.” Will mumbled. Hannibal kissed the top of Will’s head, burying his face in unruly curls.

“I know.”

~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> emeto-anon! Honestly, your responses keep getting better and better. I hope my prompts can continue to live up because everything is wonderful. This is the best. What about Will not feeling well during a lecture? And Hannibal is coming to pick him up to go to lunch afterward, and even though he's nauseous, the last thing Will wants to be is rude, so he goes. But obviously Hannibal can tell something isn't right. He can probably smell it on him, even. But he has Will eat anyway... ~~
> 
> jay-sop:
> 
> I haven’t forgotten about you emeto-anon :) Your ask has been sitting in my inbox making me smile every time I see it. This one got a little long but I hope you enjoy it~

Will could feel every set of eyes on him, their gaze boring a hole through his skin as he undid the top button of his dress shirt, the light from the overhead projector throwing patterns across his body, reflecting in his glasses that had trailed too far down his nose. 

He swallowed uncomfortably, his shirt still feeling like fingers around his neck making it hard to breathe. The auditorium was too silent as he paused to collect himself, tried again to take a deep breath and push down the nausea that had crept over him. Someone coughed and Will heard the sounds of rustling papers, students adjusting uneasily in their seats. 

“Are you alright professor Graham?” Will looked up making brief eye contact with a female student in the first row. 

“That will be all for today,” He choked out the words and turned his back to the class as they began to gather their things and file out the double doors of the auditorium. Will steadied himself with both hands against his desk, his head bowed, wishing the churning feeling in his stomach would subside. The projector was still on, the room dark, images of bloody carnage distorted across his back. He took another deep breath. It didn’t help.

Will was grateful for the silence as he found himself finally alone in the empty auditorium. He thought perhaps he might get sick for a fleeting moment and coughed uneasily, his hands beginning to tremble. His felt heat beginning to creep into his face, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. 

He jumped as footsteps sounded behind him, and then a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Will, your class is out early today,” Hannibal strode into the room, graceful steps as he descended the stairs and approached a rather feeble looking Will Graham. An aura of unease surrounded him, and it didn’t take much deduction for Hannibal to pick up the tang of fever that radiated off Will, the acrid smell of sweat and sickness. He placed a gentle hand on Will’s shoulder prompting him to turn around.

“Hannibal,” the name sounded like a sigh and Will’s stomach dropped when he remembered they had planned lunch today. Just the thought of eating had him swallowing audibly against the saliva that had started to pool under his tongue. 

“I hope you don’t mind an early lunch. I’ve made reservations at Aldo’s.” Will shivered then and Hannibal could almost taste the illness in the back of his throat. 

“Oh, yes of course,” Will managed trying to pull himself together enough to speak. “Let me just get my coat.”

The last thing Will wanted to do was cancel plans with Lecter. They had both been so busy lately and Will knew Hannibal had went out of his way to drive all the way to Baltimore so they could spend some time together. The last thing Will wanted was to be rude. And perhaps the fresh air on the drive over would help revive him. He hoped at least. 

Hannibal eyed Will in the passenger seat, a hand delicately laid across his sour stomach. He waited for Will to say something, to admit he wasn’t feeling well, but Will just squirmed uncomfortably on the ride over to Aldo’s, keeping silent for the most part. When they arrived at their destination and Hannibal handed the keys over to the valet, Will could smell the aroma of roasted meat coming from the restaurant and it made his stomach turn. He pushed his glasses back up his nose as they walked in trying not to breathe.

The atmosphere inside was upscale and elegant, complementary to Hannibal’s posh appearance, but overwhelming to Will who felt out of place and a bit claustrophobic as he cleared his throat when the waiter arrived. Hannibal had ordered a glass of pinot noir for them both and a bowl of shrimp bisque for himself, and when it came to the table Will almost choked on the fishy aroma as Hannibal enjoyed each slow mouthful, eyes upturned to Will to gauge his reaction.

“You are quiet today, Will,” Hannibal observed the obvious as Will picked at the bland mesclun salad he had forced himself to order. “And you’ve barely touched your food. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine…just a little off today…”

Will forced a few mouthfuls down, struggling to swallow them. He could feel the food stick in his throat and was suddenly wishing he was alone to be sick. Will had been silent when the waiter had asked for their orders so Hannibal had taken in upon himself to order two portions of the restaurant’s signature Ossobuco, which he “highly recommended” to Will to try. Will played with the greenery on his plate and Hannibal slowly sipped his wine, drinking in Will’s apparent unease as they waited for their entrees to arrive.

A beautifully arranged plate was set in front of Will, braised veal shank flavored with garlic and red wine over a bed of creamy risotto. Hannibal paused to appreciate the presentation of their plates before gingerly cutting the first small mouthful of veal and closing his eyes to savor it. 

Will had begun to sweat, his hands trembled as he cut into the meat, the smell of garlic strong and making his eyes water. He didn’t want to insult Hannibal’s selection from the menu; Will was fully aware at what high regard Hannibal held proper manners and it would be rude of him to not even try it. 

Hannibal watched silently as Will struggled with each bite, he relished in Will’s tenacity as he forcefully and slowly swallowed the small cuts of meat and risotto until he had finished almost everything on his plate. A thin smile crept into Hannibal’s lips as he watched Will finish the last bit of meat, Will’s resolve and discipline becoming even more beautiful to Hannibal then. Hannibal sipped his wine and waited.

The check came and Hannibal paid it without Will even noticing, the last bite he had taken still in his cheek as he was suddenly unable to swallow it. Hannibal had risen from his seat, was gathering himself up for their departure when Will’s hand flew to his mouth. He couldn’t get sick right here in the middle of this restaurant, one that Hannibal so obviously frequents. He felt the meal he had just so unwillingly consumed rising back up his throat. Wordlessly, Hannibal took him by the arm, both of them fully aware of what was about to happen. 

Hannibal had led Will out the side entrance and into a back alley when Will broke away from him, one hand steadying himself against the wall as he gagged. Nothing came up at first save the chewed bits he hadn’t swallowed and a bit of drool that dangled from his chin. Hannibal was at his side, a hand around his waist steadying him as he gagged again, bringing up only a thin stream of liquidy rice. 

Will’s head was swimming as he dropped down to his knees. Hannibal knelt down with him, his hand protectively around Will’s waist, palm flat against his stomach as it tensed and spasmed under his fingers. Will retched loudly, painfully, and this time a thick stream of vomit splattered violently onto the pavement in front of him, littered with bits of undigested meat and rice. Involuntary tears spilled down his cheeks as he tried to take a quick breath before he retched again, loudly, barely chewed leaves of bitter mesclun getting caught in his throat, making him spit and choke. 

Hannibal was rubbing his stomach, speaking quietly to him as he gagged again, bringing up the remainder of their meal, the putrid taste of alcohol and garlic making him dry heave. 

“I’ve got you,” Hannibal was saying; his other hand that wasn’t tight around Will’s stomach was pushing the damp curls off his forehead, fingers coming in contact with fever warmed skin. Will gasped for air and coughed roughly, pausing to spit again into the mess that had pooled in front of him. “Shh, I’ve got you,” Hannibal soothed, drinking in Will’s suffering like a a fine wine, holding him close until his breath quieted. 

Will sat back against Hannibal, reduced to a trembling sweating mess in Hannibal’s arms, his face stained with tears, a small bit of vomit on his chin still that Hannibal wiped at with a handkerchief produced from his front pocket. Will closed his eyes for a moment, and relief swelled in him, his heavy stomach finally completely empty. 

“We could have skipped lunch today, you know,” Hannibal said finally after Will had somewhat regained his composure. “I would have gladly rescheduled.”

“Fuck you,” Will said weakly, as Hannibal helped him to his feet, and they walked to the car. 

~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> emeto-anon has returned! sorry for the delay, but your last fic was probably my favorite so far ugh i loved everything about it. But now I think it's time we torture Hannibal again. Maybe Hanni and Will are at an opera, or something with fancy clothes and the need to be very polite. And Hannibal is having horrible stomach pains, like the absolute worst ever. And by intermission, he knows that fighting it away is inevitable. He tries desperately not to get sick in their balcony seats~~
> 
> jay-sop:
> 
> e. a. I love you seriously <3
> 
> sorry it took me so long to reply but this one sort of took on a life of its own and honestly I don’t know how it ended up being so long.

Will rolled his shoulders and tried to relax. He still felt far too full after the overly rich meal he had shared at Hannibal’s home. It didn’t help that his new suit was a little snug around the waist.

“I feel like I should be serving our drinks,” Will mumbled fidgeting with his cuff links, “or maybe attending a funeral. Was this really necessary to my ‘enjoyment’ of the evening?”

Hannibal eyed him wearily. Will had complained the entire ride over, even after Hannibal assured him that he looked rather dashing in the ensemble he had coaxed him to choose.

“You clean up very nicely, Mr. Graham,” Hannibal cooed settling into his seat. “I feel honored to have you on my arm.”

Will rolled his eyes even as Hannibal placed a gentle hand on his thigh. There it was, the reason he was enduring all of this, Hannibal’s slight smile, that heavy touch that seemed to allow Will to accept his lover’s darker nature, or maybe to just overlook it altogether.

“Forgive me if this seems rude… but aren’t we a bit far from the stage? I mean, wouldn’t it have been better to sit down there,” Will stood and walked to the railing looking over at the patrons below, men and women all dressed to the nines, a light chatter filling the void of silence as they took their seats.

Hannibal smirked at him.

“These are the best seats in the house, reserved for me all season,” He whispered as Will sat back down adjusting uncomfortably back into his seat. “I find the acoustics to be quite wonderful. You would miss it sitting too close.”

Another eye roll as Will adjusted his glasses and leafed through the playbill, most of it in Italian.

“I’m not sure how interesting this will be If I can’t see what’s going on or understand it either,” Will pouted, still trying to get under Hannibal’s skin. It seemed as though it was working; Hannibal looked just the slightest bit agitated.

It usually took a great deal more to rattle Hannibal’s nerves; the man was as stoic as a statue, his features carved in marble, and Will was lucky most days if he could provoke the slightest eyebrow raise out of him. Now he seemed pensive, perhaps preoccupied with something, and Will began to wonder if he was even listening to him at all.

The lights dimmed then and prompted the house to grow quiet as the curtains pulled back to reveal the players on the stage.

Hannibal sighed, a hand coming to rest on his slightly curved stomach. In the dark, he hoped Will couldn’t see the pained expression that had settled in his face. He struggled to stay still as his stomach tensed and twisted sickeningly underneath his fingers. The nausea had come on suddenly and hit him quite hard. Within a few minutes it worsened to the point that Hannibal wanted to double over in pain and put his head between his knees. Perhaps if he rode it out for a little longer it might subside, perhaps through sheer power of thought he could regain his composure, or perhaps he was about to be sick right there next to Will in their balcony seats.

Will was watching all this happen, reading the subtle and not so subtle expressions as they spread across Hannibal’s face, following the struggle as he tried to desperately keep his dinner from reappearing in his lap.

All the while Hannibal’s anxiety was rising, a tight feeling like a weight on his chest accompanied the pain and cramping of his stomach, made him feel as though he was choking. A finger slipped underneath his collar stretching the fabric away from his neck. Silently he began to panic; it was one thing to allow Will to see him at his worst, but for the general public to witness it, that was entirely mortifying and completely unacceptable.

Will placed a hand on his shoulder and Hannibal jumped. That was all the confirmation Will needed.

“Hannibal,” Will whispered, “are you feeling alright?”

Hannibal cringed a little, his eyes floating up to meet Will’s concerned look. He swallowed audibly.

“I’m just…feeling…a bit ill.” He spoke as if he was admitting defeat, his eyes breaking Will’s gaze and turning towards the floor.

“Hey…it’s ok…we can quietly slip out if you’re feeling that bad,” Will put his arm around him, a hand steady on his back. Hannibal sucked in a deep breath. His exhale was shaky.

“How convenient for you,” he grumbled, swallowing hard between the words.

“Hey, I admit I may have given you a hard time but–” Hannibal laid his head on Will’s shoulder in the dark and a small moan surfaced from him. A wave of nausea rolled through his body making him shudder.

“But what?” the words barely came out, Hannibal closing his eyes and trying to minimize his movements, no longer caring if anyone witnessed his ordeal.

“But…” Will whispered, “…I love you…but I’m sure you already knew that.”

Hannibal smiled weakly until the pain in his stomach made him cringe. He tried not to think about it, tried to focus on Will, on the hand at his back, the warmth of Will’s skin against his cheek, the way his messy curls tickled against his forehead.

His stomach made an audible groan and prompted Will to place a gentle hand on his belly, a small bit of pressure to hopefully ease his discomfort. It helped just slightly when he began to rub.

The orchestra swelled and the first movement finished to the sound of applause. Hannibal opened his eyes when the music stopped, as if he had for a moment forgotten where they were. Remembering that they were for all intensive purposes on display for the audience below made his heart drop. He swallowed back hard against the stomach acid that seemed to be rising up his throat. He hoped that he could at least make it outside before he lost everything.

“Will…” Hannibal whispered, “I think I need to be sick.”

Will helped Hannibal to his feet and they slipped out somewhat quietly and disappeared into the back of the house. Hannibal clung to Will ’s side as they as ducked into a back stairwell, the metal door shutting behind them with a loud clang.

In a rather undignified slump, Hannibal collapsed onto the first step, his knees spread apart and his head hanging between them. 

“Hey, you’re ok. Can you hold out a little longer?” Will whispered a hand on Hannibal’s back. Hannibal leaned forward and spit out a long string of saliva that had pooled in his mouth.

His head was spinning. The stairwell seemed to be in constant motion even though he had firmly planted himself on that first step. Will was there rubbing his back, talking to him in as soothing a manner as he could manage.

The first gag was loud. It echoed off the concrete walls in the empty stairwell. Will thought it sounded painful. Nothing came up except another mouthful of saliva. Will crouched down beside him.

“Maybe it was something you ate?“ Will offered, his hand wandering to the base of Hannibal’s neck. His skin felt clammy. Hannibal shot him an indignant look and grabbed Will ’s arm, a little harder than was comfortable.

“It was absolutely not something I ate.” The words were almost a snarl.

“Ok,” Will tucked a strand of hair that had fallen into Hannibal’s eyes back behind his ear, “but maybe just humor me that it could at least be a possibility?”

“…No.” Another loud unproductive gag.

“Alright…take it easy.” Will detached himself from Hannibal’s grip and put a palm to his forehead. “You do feel a bit feverish.”

Hannibal leaned into the touch hoping Wills presence might make the room stop spinning. His stomach lurched but only to dry heave again. Will held his hair out of his eyes, his cool skin making contact with fever warmed skin.

“It’s ok,” Will coaxed a hand gently pressing on Hannibal’s sour stomach. He coughed and tried to clear his throat, but just the act of coughing and the pressure from Will’s touch made him retch. A weak stream of vomit poured from him, tinged red from the wine enjoyed with dinner. It splattered onto the ground between his feet, coating the inside of his pant legs and dribbling down the front of the stairs. Will swallowed uneasily; the vomit smelled vaguely like his last meal.

Hannibal gagged again, the smell of his own sick overpowering him, making him even more nauseous. Burning liquid forced its way up his throat until he felt hot tears begin to spill down his cheeks. He coughed and choked until more came up, some of it pooling in his lap. One last loud gag and he brought up the remainder of his dinner; the last weak dribble of vomit splattered into the warm mess pooled at his feet.

For a moment he didn’t dare move, resting his head in his hands, strands of reddish drool dripping from his chin like blood. Will dried the tears that had stained Hannibal’s face with the back of his sleeve and surveyed the damage. Hannibal’s clothing was soaked through with deep red. Vomit spread in a crimson puddle at his feet and honestly the whole scene called to mind some of his companion’s more unsavory activities.

“Do you think you can walk?” Will asked his words gentle.

“Yes, I think so,” Hannibal’s voice was shredded.

“I think we better go,” Will smirked helping Hannibal to his feet, “before this stairwell is mistaken for a crime scene.”

Hannibal was the one to roll his eyes this time as Will steadied him, a supportive arm around his waist. 

~~~


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous:
> 
> hello hello emeto-anon here! Sorry its been a really crazy week for me, but as always I adored your last response. So good. So good. I just love Hannibal losing his composure in such a way. Which is why my suggestion now is for Hannibal again. Getting sick in front of not only Will but someone else, too. Anyone - Jack maybe? You pick. I was thinking motion sickness or something that he would obviously have to work very hard at staving off. <3
> 
> jay-sop:
> 
> I like this idea ;) Hannibal is definitely my favorite one to write emeto for but this also gives me a chance to write a little murder family AU which I’ve wanted to do for awhile now.

“Do you think we could switch seats…maybe at the next rest stop?” Abigail was hanging on the back of Hannibal’s seat, her cheek pressed against the headrest. Will eyed her in the rear view. She was still all smiles, not able to hide her excitement over their first real road trip together.

“What’s wrong with the backseat? I thought you’d like to spread out, you know stretch your legs. We still have a ways to go.” Will said, his eyes on the road. “Besides, you should be asking Hannibal not me.”

Hannibal stirred awake. He had just nodded off, his head slumped ungracefully against the cool of the window. He shivered reaching once again for the dial to turn up the heater.

“Seriously?” Will reached over not a moment later and turned it back down. “You had the air on a minute ago. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Hannibal grumbled, “It’s just a bit cold in here…”

“Actually it isn’t,” Abigail said flatly.

Will reached over and put a hand to Hannibal’s forehead. Hannibal closed his eyes leaning into the touch. Will’s hand felt cool, soothing. When he withdrew it Hannibal let out a small sigh.

“You feel warm,” Will said becoming concerned. He put the back of his hand to his own forehead. “Very warm. Feverish.”

Hannibal swallowed thickly and shivered. He had been feeling a bit off since they left that morning, but he didn’t want to admit it. Will had been planning this trip for weeks and Abigail had been really looking forward to it. It was practically all she had talked about since Will had suggested it. It was hard to get Abigail excited about anything these days after everything she had gone through and Hannibal thought it would have been quite rude to postpone their plans because of him.

Will glanced at him, curled uncomfortably in the passenger seat, and took pity on him turning the heat up a notch.

“We could stop for a bit,” Will offered placing a hand on Hannibal’s knee.

“There’s no need,” Hannibal said his voice dry. Abigail reached over and rubbed his arm.

“Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t feeling well? We could have waited until tomorrow to leave,” She said trying to soothe him.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he reassured. Abigail still looked worried, her expression faded when Will eyed her again in the rear view. She had become attached to them both, but Will couldn’t deny the special bond she seemed to have with Hannibal. She took off her jacket, Will’s old weathered Carhartt that he had given her, and covered Hannibal with it.

“Thank you love,” he said offering her a weak smile, “but you needn’t worry. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Oh I’m sure that you are,” she said her sarcasm beginning to rival Will’s, “but I think Will and I are both starting to sweat with that heater on high.”

Will smirked eyeing Abigail’s reflection again. She caught his eye and gave a wink. He wriggled one arm at a time out of his own jacket before Abigail took it from him.

Hannibal sighed, the warm jacket draped over him like a make-shift blanket. It smelled vaguely like Will, smoky like a fire with undertones of that awful cologne he despised. It was somehow comforting and prompted him to close his eyes. A moment later he opened them again beginning to feel a little queasy.

“This is the last rest stop for twenty miles,” Will announced as they approached the off ramp, “How about we stop and I’ll see if I can get something to lower that fever.”

“I’m fine, Will. You don’t need to stop on my account.”

Will flipped on his turn signal and pulled onto the ramp anyway.

“Your stubbornness is staggering,” he mumbled throwing the car into park. Will disappeared inside the gas station and Abigail stepped out to stretch her legs.

Hannibal stayed inside the car. He tipped his head back and let his eyes slowly close. He was really starting to feel terrible. He reached up to rub his eyes and his skin felt cold and clammy. He swallowed back the saliva that had started to pool in his mouth. He never got sick. This was probably one of his patient’s fault, leaving germs and tissues strewn around his office to pick up. It was all a big inconvenience and terribly rude. He would have to narrow down the culprit later.

Will returned, producing a cold bottle of ginger ale and a packet of Tylenol from a plastic bag. He handed them to Hannibal who wearily swallowed them down, the soda feeling heavy inside his stomach.

Back in the car they pulled onto the highway, Abigail leafing through some pamphlets she had picked up at the rest stop, and Will glancing over at Hannibal whose decline was becoming more and more obvious. He cracked the window just a few inches.

“Some fresh air will help I think,” Will said turning the heat off. Abigail sighed in relief from the back seat. 

“Thank you, I was starting to run out of clothing to take off,” she said and then to Hannibal, “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

She took Hannibal’s silence as an affirmative and reached into the front seat fidgeting with the dial until she settled on a classic rock station.

“Oh I love this song!” Abigail said still leaning into the front seat, “She was…an American girl…”

Will sang along with her, doing the lower parts, as they made their way down the highway, road construction signs coming up orange in the distance. Hannibal sighed and closed his eyes. It wasn’t his first choice of music but honestly he could try to bare it, maybe drift into his mind palace if necessary. And it might be necessary he thought to himself, his stomach twisting sickeningly underneath his hand.

Traffic slowed as they approached a lane shift and suddenly they were driving over uneven pavement, a concrete wall on either side. Hannibal swallowed audibly his stomach beginning to gurgle. Will could hear it even over the music which he turned down, his concentration split between staying a safe distance from the wall and watching over Hannibal whose face had gone deathly pale.

“How are you holding up?” Will asked gently. Hannibal squinted at him, not sure if it was safe to open his mouth to talk. “That good huh?”

“Terrific,” he croaked out, his voice trembling. The road became grated and then a rather large drop as they hit new pavement. Hannibal started breathing heavy, trying to stave off the nausea that was making his face burn hot. He burped wetly into his hand, the ginger ale and pills he had swallowed earlier threatening to make a return appearance.

Abigail seemed quite oblivious to all of this, still singing along cheerfully to a Joan Jett song that had come on the radio. Will glanced at Hannibal, a little too long actually because he swerved a bit when his eyes went back to the road.

And that was all it took.

Hannibal gagged into his hand that he still had clamped over his mouth.

“Will,” he said his words muffled, “I’m going to be sick.”

“Shit…” Will said eyeing the road, at least a mile or so of concrete walls in front of them, “Abigail…Abigail hand me that plastic bag.”

Abigail fished the bag off the floor and gave it to Will, not sure what was going on. Hannibal took it gratefully. His whole body lurched forward as he gagged again, a putrid mixture of ginger ale and bile pouring from his throat.

“Oh gross,” Abigail said looking away stifling a sympathetic gag into her own hand.

Hannibal coughed, embarrassment making his face burn. He gagged again, retching a second time into the bag. Will reached over to rub his back, still trying to keep his eyes on the road. Hannibal was grateful for the point of contact.

“Hey it’s ok,” Will soothed, rubbing in between Hannibal’s shoulder blades. Hannibal threw up again, leaning so far forward his head was almost in between his knees. Another dribble of vomit came up, pooling into the plastic bag in his lap. Involuntary tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.

Abigail was transfixed out her window trying to ignore the sickening sounds Hannibal was making as he started to dry heave. Finally the construction cleared and Will was able to pull over off onto the shoulder. 

Hannibal gagged again before spitting into the bag, the sound of his painful retching filling the now silent car. Will got out leaving his door open, the keys still in the ignition sounding the chime. He opened Hannibal’s door and helped him step out.

“Here, lean on me,” he said. Hannibal put an arm around Will’s smaller frame and only made it a few steps before he gagged again. Getting sick had weakened him, made him put all his weight onto Will. They knelt down together and Hannibal brought up the last bit into the grass and weeds along the shoulder.

Hannibal’s head was spinning, but at least he was empty for the most part, and out of the motion sickness inducing car. Will put an arm around him and Hannibal laid his head on Will’s shoulder, his breath still coming fast. Abigail stepped out as well and walked over to them, a hand on her hip.

“Will was right you know,” she said. “Stubborn.”

“Yes, well, there are worse things in life to be,” Will said, carding fingers through Hannibal’s mussed up hair, pushing it up out of his eyes. 

~~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> it is i, your emeto anon! I'm so sorry I've been gone for so long. I've had a rough few weeks. But all should be turning around now, and I haven't disappeared forever. I want to give you another prompt but I'm afraid it's going to be horribly open ended, I'm running a bit dry on the ideas. However, I would like Hannibal getting sick and also stomach pain. Will having to take care of him even though he's being stubborn and rub his belly after he vomits a few times. *_*
> 
> jay-sop:
> 
> Not to worry e.a. I’ve had a rough month tbh. I hope you are in a better space when you read this. I’m still working on my own head but its gonna take some time I think before I’m completely back to (what I consider) normal. 
> 
> To make us both feel better, here is some hannigram emeto under the cut~~

After canceling his last appointment of the day, Hannibal put his head down, cheek against the smooth mahogany surface of his desk, arms crossed and covering his eyes. The room was lit dim, the afternoon sun hidden behind clouds, perhaps a summer storm rolling in. Another cramp had him silently cringing, one arm coming to clutch across his belly until it passed. It left his stomach feeling heavy and sour.

What had started off early that morning as a general feeling of exhaustion and an unusual lack of appetite at breakfast had only worsened as the day dragged on. He had tried to see patients but it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the gurgling noises that seemed to only happen during the most awkward pauses in their conversations. Hannibal considered himself to have a pretty high tolerance for pain as well, but the stomach cramps were coming on wickedly strong. His last patient actually caught on when he paused to close his eyes, a trickle of sweat gliding down his temple.

“Are you alright, Dr. Lecter?” The words stung him. He felt almost embarrassed at his sudden lack of control.

“Yes, I’m fine.” his throat bobbed as he swallowed twice. “I think we should continue this, perhaps tomorrow?”

It had been easy enough to clear the rest of his schedule. There was one last phone call however that wasn’t so easy to make.

“Hello?” Will’s voice was soothing even small and tinny across the phone lines.

“Will,” Hannibal swallowed again, trying to compose himself. “I wouldn’t normally ask this of you,” another pause between swallowing, “but…” he couldn’t continue, his stomach muscles burning underneath his palm. He tried to breathe through it, his face a tight grimace.

“Where are you?” Will adjusted his glasses. It was obvious something was wrong and his mind jumped to all sorts of conclusions. He didn’t need to be empathic to hear the pain in Hannibal’s voice.

“At my office,” Hannibal barely managed almost choking on the last few words. Will was already ushering his dogs into the house, hastily making sure he had put down food and water for them, the phone balanced precariously between his ear and his shoulder.

“I’m already on my way,” he said grabbing keys off the coffee table. “I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Hannibal?” Will’s voice held a pang of panic in it.

“I’m here.” The voice that responded sounded rough.

“Just stay on the phone with me, ok? I’ll keep it on speaker.”

“Will, you don’t have to–”

“Just humor me.” Hannibal could hear the engine turn over. Faintly he heard it growl as Will peeled out.

It was a long drive for Will; most of it spent listening to Hannibal’s labored breathing, a cough now and then, a soft sigh a few times. When he finally pulled up to his office all the lights were off. He made his way inside, the door left unlocked for him, his phone still glowing in his hand.

He found Hannibal slumped over his desk, his hand spread where he had put down the phone, still touching the edge of it, a life line that had connected them for the past two hours.

Will knelt beside him, a hand brushing up into his hair meeting feverish skin. Hannibal stirred, his eyes barely opening as he squinted up at Will. It was a relief to see him standing there and he managed a small smile.

“It’s not as bad…as it looks.” Will helped him to his feet, shouldering most of his weight. Hannibal let out a long moan as his stomach tensed and rolled underneath his fingers.

“I can see that. You’re the picture of perfect health.”

They made a slow procession across the room, Hannibal sitting down on the couch or rather falling onto it, bringing Will down with him. His vision wavered, Will’s image splitting into two for a moment before coalescing back together. Hannibal swallowed audibly, another moan escaping him as he clutched at his stomach. He closed his eyes but it didn’t make the room stop spinning.

“Here,” Will was offering him some water, pressing the edge of a paper cup to his lips. He took a few small sips but it made his stomach feel heavy and sour.

“I think…I just need to lie down…” Hannibal said pushing the cup away. Will helped him toe off his shoes. Gentle hands loosened his tie and undid the first few buttons of his shirt.

“You should have called me earlier,” Will said helping Hannibal slip out of his suit jacket. He laid it carefully across the back of the couch, mindful not to wrinkle it. He placed a hand to Hannibal’s forehead, pushing up the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “I think you might have a fever. How long have you felt sick?”

“Not long,” Hannibal said, his eyes closing again, his breath becoming shallow. Will offered the water but Hannibal pushed it away. “Please…I just need to close my eyes…”

He doubled over then, another cramp making bile creep up his throat. Will hovered over him, concern lighting his eyes. He pushed his hand underneath Hannibal’s, started to rub gentle circles into his stomach. Will felt Hannibal’s muscles constrict sickeningly underneath his palm.

“Try to relax,” Will said, putting a bit more pressure on Hannibal’s stomach. The weight of his hand felt soothing and Hannibal leaned against him, head cradled in the crook of Will’s neck. Will spoke soft shushes to him, lips brushing a kiss on his temple.

“Thank you for this…” Hannibal’s voice was barely audible. Will kissed him again, lips lingering cool against his fevered skin.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Will whispered his breath ghosting across Hannibal’s face. Hannibal tensed, muscles curling into a painful spasm. Will pulled him into his lap, Hannibal dragging his legs up onto the couch. A wave of heat and nausea swept over him and he moaned.

“Do you need to get sick?” Will had switched to rubbing his back, trying in vain to soothe him.

Hannibal swallowed hard against the bile that burned its way up his throat. “No.”

Will carded fingers gently through Hannibal’s hair. “It might make you feel better.”

“I don’t think…that it will…” Hannibal managed the words from between gritted teeth. He knew Will was right but he still fought against it, tried desperately to take back control of his own body. It was a losing battle. He raised a hand to his mouth and stifled a wet sounding burp. “I haven’t eaten…at all today…”

Will untangled himself from Hannibal’s grip and retrieved the waste bin from underneath his desk. On his way back to Hannibal’s side he refilled the little paper cup with ice cold water from the cooler.

“Come on,” Will soothed, “Try to sit up.”

Hannibal obeyed, sitting up and then leaning forward, hands squarely on his knees, eyes downcast into the waste bin Will had placed at his feet. Will put a hand at his back and offered the water. Hannibal refused his vision swaying in and out as Will rubbed slow circles into his back.

“It’ll help,” Will pushed.

“Just the thought of it makes me quite ill…”Hannibal mumbled taking the water despite the nausea rolling in his stomach. Tentatively he started to drink. The cold hit his throat and he coughed hard.

Will took the paper cup from him, the hand at his back gently guiding him to lean over the waste bin. As soon as the water hit his stomach he gagged, a little rush of liquid pouring from him. He coughed and spit into the bin, his eyes beginning to water.

Will placed a hand on the back of his neck, felt his body lunge forward with another deep gag. Nothing came up this time. Hannibal coughed again and his whole body tensed and shivered. He lifted his eyes to meet Will’s, unobstructed by his glasses that he had taken off.

“Drink this. It will give you something to bring up.” Hannibal gave him a look of disdain.

“Why…do you insist on torturing me?” Another gag as the mere thought of drinking anything made his stomach turn.

“You called me, remember?” Will offered the cup.

Hannibal took the deepest breath he could manage and gulped down the rest of the water. They waited silently for only a brief moment before he leaned forward and gagged, only a dribble coming back up, still cold.

“There, that’s it,” Will soothed rubbing his back. Hannibal retched, his body lurching forward, putrid liquid pouring from him, only some of it landing in the waste bin, the rest splattering onto the floor. A second heave and more came up, this time tinged brown with his last meal. He snatched a quick breath before gagging again. The last wave of vomit was thicker, made him choke at the end, fighting to breathe.

Hannibal leaned back against Will who had planted himself at his side. Will’s skillful hands pulled up his shirt, fingers meeting the smooth expanse of his stomach. Hannibal sighed as Will placed a flat palm against him, putting just the right amount of pressure as he began to rub. He was silent for a moment, thinking perhaps the worst of it had passed. A fresh wave of sickly heat burned into his cheeks and he was leaning over again, hovering above the waste bin.

“…it hurts…” Hannibal’s voice sounded uncharacteristically vulnerable. Will pressed against his stomach and Hannibal leaned forward to retch. It was loud but brought up only a trickle of vomit. He was too exhausted at this point to protest when Will offered him more water.

“Will Graham…you are a sadist…” Hannibal slurred reluctantly taking the paper cup from his hands. He drank it, gagging halfway through but then finishing the entire thing.

“And you are just plain stubborn,” Will said as Hannibal closed his eyes, not looking forward to the next few minutes of his life. Will was holding him up at this point as Hannibal gagged harshly, the water gushing back up his throat, bringing the rest of his stomach contents with it. There was a pause between heaves before he continued to throw up, the last of it finally clear, his stomach all but empty. One last gag and only a weak trickle spilled from parted lips.

Will pulled a rather weak and dejected looking Hannibal back onto the couch with him, his hand finding its way underneath his shirt to gingerly rub circles in his stomach. He let out a long sigh in response to Wills tender touch.

He still felt restless, the fever making it hard to keep his eyes closed, his vision not wanting to focus fully. He reached out to Will, placed his hand over the one still rubbing his stomach.

“Just rest,” Will whispered, his words seeping into Hannibal’s skin. Fingers wove into his hair and Hannibal relaxed into Will’s caresses.

~~~


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a tumblr prompt, but I thought I'd add it here anyways. 
> 
> This is for all of you that requested Will being sick and Hannibal taking care of him. 
> 
> I like to think that Will leaves drunken messages on Hannibal's phone some nights and well, this is where I went with that idea.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

“You’re drunk.” Hannibal’s voice was blunt, but there was also an air of concern there. He looked Will over, a hand coming to cup his cheek and raise up his chin. Will shrugged away from him, his eyes blinking against the harsh light Hannibal had turned on.

“Thank you for that… _astute_ observation,” Will slurred, shielding his eyes from the blinding light of the table lamp. Hannibal took a knee to lower himself to Will’s line of sight. Steady eyes studied him. The bite of alcohol was strong on his breath, almost stung inside his nose as Hannibal hauled him up from the ground where he had found him, huddled inside the dark of his humble, but Hannibal mused, cozy living room.

His shirt was soaked through with sweat. Hannibal cringed as his finely tuned senses were assaulted with the scent of stale vomit still hanging in the air. A mostly empty bottle of whiskey lay horizontal on the floor and was pushed out of the way by the scuffle of feet before Hannibal deposited Will down on the couch.

“You don’t need to do this…Hannibal…” Will’s head swam as he adjusted to being upright. Unconsciously he clung to Hannibal’s arm for purchase. Will swallowed thickly as his vision swayed.

“After the plethora of voicemails you left me,” Hannibal chided, “I thought that I better err on the side of caution. You should not be alone right now, Will.”

A hand in his hair again and Will didn’t shy away this time. Instead he leaned into the touch. Hannibal’s hands felt cool against his whiskey warmed skin. He let his body sink back into the cushions, legs sprawled out wide.

“And have you come to take advantage of my…inhibitions?” Will gave a sultry grin, his eyes barely open. Hannibal’s lips curved into a slight smile. He removed his coat hanging it neatly over the back of a chair. When he returned Will had closed his eyes, a slightly pained expression spreading across his features. He took a shaky shallow breath and let out a small sigh of discomfort that caught the attention of a few of the dogs, their heads popping up from where they lay, eyes watchful of their master.

“As tempting of a dish as you are at this moment,” Hannibal cooed with the slightest bit of sarcasm as he unbuttoned a sleeve and cuffed it, “I think it best that we save that for another time, perhaps one when you will actually remember it later.”

Will didn’t respond. He had become very quiet, his breath seeming to have slowed to a stop until another shallow inhale had him gasping for the air he had somehow forgotten how to breathe. Hannibal’s hands were on him, fingers lifting his t-shirt and peeling the damp cotton away like a layer of molting skin. Will moaned as the cool air hit him, goose bumps bristling across his body. Damp curls were pushed off his forehead as a hand rested there before gingerly taking off his glasses.

Will shivered, his skin layered in a thin sheen of cooling sweat. Hannibal sighed. Surveying the room for a blanket only produced one that was threadbare and covered in hair from various dogs. He closed his eyes to shield himself from the cloud it produced when he shook it out, the blanket billowing in the air. With his eyes still shut, Will tensed when the blanket was brought tenderly around his shoulders.

The bottle on the floor was righted with a little clink as Hannibal tried to determine just how much Will had drank. Not seeing more than a few drops dried on the wood floor led him to deduce that most of it had been consumed. Will’s breath started to come in little shallow gasps and a shaky hand reached out to find Hannibal’s fingers.

“Hannibal…where…did you go?” The words were rushed between breaths. Hannibal gripped Will’s hand, coming to sit next to him.

“I’m right here,” Hannibal’s voice was lowered to a whisper. He snaked an arm under the blanket and around Will’s back. Will rested his head against the doctor’s shoulder, damp curls matted up under Hannibal’s chin. Hannibal took a deep breath, holding the bitter scent of Will’s quiet suffering deep inside his lungs, committing it all to his indelible memory.  

Another moan, this one long and drawn out, reverberated into Hannibal’s chest. Will swallowed harshly, his face pressed into the crook of the other man’s neck.

“Shhh…” Hannibal’s voice was low and soothing as it cut through the dark. Gentle hands guided Will to sit up and lean forward.

“I don’t feel so good…” Words slurred again between harsh gasps.

“I know,” Hannibal’s hand was firmly planted at Will’s back pushing him to lean farther forward. Gently he cupped Will’s face and leaned down closer to him so his words could be just above a soft whisper. “You need to get sick.”

Will cringed at the thought. A low groan and he was trying to fill his lungs with air but the alcohol was intent on stealing it out of his chest.

“What I need…is to breathe…” Will said from between the harsh hiss of his labored gasps.  Hannibal pushed the hair from Will’s forehead and placed a gentle kiss there, lips lingering as he held the scent of him again inside his chest.

“You should listen to my advice, Will,” Hannibal cooed, his breath warm against Will’s cheek. “You called me here, remember?”

“I don’t…actually…” Will struggled to get his breathing under control. He couldn’t tell now whether it was the heavy weight of alcohol or panic that made his chest feel so tight. Whatever it was he wanted nothing else but for it to be over.

“Perhaps a cool shower might help?” Hannibal persuaded Will off the couch. The room moved sickeningly around him and he found Hannibal seemed to be the only anchor he had at the moment. Will clung to him as they slowly made their way to his bathroom, blanket dragging along the floor behind him picking up big tufts of dog hair as they went.

Once inside the bathroom, Hannibal stripped Will of the rest of his clothing and lifted him into the tub. He all but collapsed to his knees, a little hiss of pain escaping him as skin made contact with the bitter cold porcelain. With a squeal the faucet came on, Hannibal having taken the hand held sprayer off its perch, testing the water at Will’s feet until it came out luke-warm instead of freezing.

“Just relax, this may be a little cold at first.”

The water cascaded down Will’s back and for a moment it was quite cold until his body slowly adjusted. Hannibal’s hand made a great sweeping motion across Will’s back, slowly cutting through the water spray as it fell in torrents over his crouched form. Will looked small there, hunched forward and shivering as the cool shower washed over him. When he seemed to have calmed Hannibal replaced the hand sprayer and began to unbutton his shirt. Will looked up at him through sopping wet curls.

“What…what are you doing?” His teeth chattered. He hadn’t realized how much he was shaking until he had tried to talk.

Hannibal placed his shirt on the hook on the back of the bathroom door before kneeling down beside the tub. His movements were slow and deliberate. Gently he cupped Will’s face in his hands.

Hannibal let Will struggle for only a moment more before he pushed two long fingers into his mouth. Will surrendered to him, let him press his fingers down on the back of his tongue until he gagged in response.

“Shhh…” Hannibal stilled as Will’s body lurched forward in an unproductive heave. He braced himself against Hannibal who was now leaning halfway under the water with him. Will shut his eyes and gave himself over to the other, whose fingers crept into his mouth again, this time pushing back until he felt the wall of Will’s throat contract against his fingertips.

A loud gag and Will was doubled over, the sound of his retching echoing off tiles. He spit out a mouthful of saliva in the space between his knees. It lingered thick and viscous until the water washed it away. Will coughed and spit again, a long moan pulled from him.

Once more Lecter’s slender fingers pushed past Will’s teeth and pressed sickeningly against the back wall of his throat. Will’s body seized and contracted, a rush of liquid pouring from him once he gagged harshly against Hannibal’s fingers. It pooled in his lap, the water only partially washing it down the drain in a putrid little whirlpool.

“Ugh…” Will hung his head, Hannibal’s hand steadying him, flat against his chest. He let Will catch his breath, let the water wash away the sick before he forced his hand inside Will’s mouth again.

It was easy this time. Hannibal didn’t even need to fully enter Will’s mouth before a torrent of hot liquid spilled from parted lips, coating his forearm down to the elbow. Without a chance for a breath, another heave followed, bringing up a more violent fountain of bile and alcohol that splattered down into Wills lap. Between the lapse of a heartbeat, Will retched again and brought up more, coating his chin and neck, dribbling down his bare chest. The remainder of it hung off his chin as he swayed unsteadily against Lecter’s hand that was still pressed to his chest, the only thing keeping him upright.

“There, that’s it,” Hannibal soothed thinking perhaps Will was finished for the moment. He surprised them both when he braced himself against the wall of the tub and retched again, the liquid pouring from him this time reduced to a thin burning trickle.

Contented that Will had relieved himself of most of the alcohol in his stomach, Hannibal took the hand sprayer down and gently washed the sick away. Will closed his eyes, panting heavily, and rested his head against the cool of the tiled wall. A damp cloth was brought to his face, gingerly wiping away any remnants of his sickness.

The faucet was shut off and a warm towel wrapped around Will’s shoulders. When he opened his eyes Hannibal offered him a cup filled with water. Gratefully he took it and swirled it around his mouth before spitting it out into the tub. The effects of the alcohol where still present but the heaviness in his chest had subsided enough that all he wanted to do now was lie down.

Wordlessly, Hannibal lifted Will to his feet. It wasn’t until he tried to stand and wavered on unsteady legs, that Will realized how weak he had become. Getting so violently sick had drained him and Hannibal had to carry him to the bed, which he did without complaint or comment.

Tentatively, the dogs had followed and claimed their places on the floor of Will’s bedroom. Hannibal deposited Will amongst unmade blankets, propping his head up with two pillows, and covering him with a thin sheet. Will closed his eyes and clutched at his still sour stomach.

Hannibal slid into the bed next to him and Will instinctively curled against his side. Hands carded through Will’s damp but clean hair, and wandered until they rested at the nape of his neck.

“Hannibal?” a rough voice cut through the silence.

“I’m here love,” Hannibal whispered, his breath ghosting across Will’s skin. He gathered him closer, arms curling around him until Will’s cheek laid comfortably flush against Hannibal’s chest.

“Will you still be here…when I wake up?” The words were just a murmur but so poignant and hopeful that they tugged at Hannibal’s heart.

“Of course,” Hannibal whispered. “As long as you want me, I will be here.”

There was no response except the even tones of sleep, as Will’s breath slowed into a steady rhythm. Hannibal followed the rise and fall of his chest until he too was lulled to sleep.

 ~~~

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> helloooooo it is i, emeto-anon making a long awaited return! i am so sorry ive been so absent! but i was thinking, to make us all feel better in the aftermath of the finale, how about something with will having to take very sweet and tender care of hannibal? Maybe Hannibal wakes up in the night and is sick and Will doesn't realize he's gone until Hannibal calls for him from the bathroom, needing to know that he's still there in his fever and sick delirious state. <3
> 
> jay-sop:
> 
> e. a. I love you seriously. And your prompts give me life but I’m sure you already know that.
> 
> I will admit I’ve been a bit sad and mopey after the finale. It took me a while to find some time to write but….I couldn’t resist the idea of Hannibal being feverish and needy and not quite sure if Will actually survived and came with him or if he was just imagining it all and was actually alone. And then giving himself a panic attack every time he begins to believe that he is indeed alone, calling out for Will, not actually sure if he will be there, unable to deal with loosing the only person he has ever genuinely connected with.

~~~

It was always the same, every night since. His clothes were a weight that pulled him down under a rush of black water. He strained hard to see, the salt burning his eyes. Hannibal was there, always with the space of fingertips separating them, always just out of his reach.

And then, the terrible moment when his lungs betrayed him, when he couldn’t help the little gasp that sucked in enough water to make him choke. He struggled towards the surface but with each desperate kick it seemed to stretch on infinitely until he wasn’t even sure if he was swimming in the right direction anymore.

Will woke panicked, gasping for air. The sting of pain from stitches pulled tight across his cheek grounded him. He sucked in a deep breath and held it, blinking into the dark.

The room was too quiet, too still. He jumped when a voice sounded from the hall.

“…Will?“

His name sounded like a whimper. Will sat up. Hannibal’s side of the bed was empty. Will ended up with a handful of sheets when he reach out for him. 

Hannibal hadn’t been moving around much on his own lately. Will was genuinely surprised to find he was gone. Since they had arrived at the safe house, Hannibal had quite literally been glued to Will’s side.

He sat up and swung legs over the side of the bed with a groan. It seemed there wasn’t a part of him left that wasn’t bruised and sore.

“Will?”

His voice sounded so small. Will could detect an air of panic in it. He stood up gingerly, a hand on the bed post to steady himself. Bare feet padded through the dark, a few muttered curses when he stubbed his toe on the foot of the dresser. He heard his name again and sleepily followed it until he found its source.

“Will…” Hannibal was huddled between the tub and the toilet, his eyes wild with fever. For a moment he wasn’t sure if Will was real or an apparition of his mind sent to trick him. He didn’t seem to calm until Will knelt down beside him. Silently, Will hauled him up out of the corner and into his lap.

“You should have woke me up,” Will said, hands carding through Hannibal’s messy hair. He seemed to relax a little at Will’s touch. “In fact, I would have greatly appreciated you waking me up…oh about ten minutes ago would have been good.”

Hannibal’s recognition was slowed. Will’s words washed over him but didn’t quite sink in.

He gripped at Will’s t-shirt, pressed his face to his chest. His panic only lessened by a few degrees when Will began to rub his back. The familiar feeling of Will’s hands on him was comforting but anxiety still ruled. It made him doubt his own perception.

It had been difficult to distinguish the rooms in his mind palace from the rooms of the safe house lately. Hannibal found he kept getting lost in them for the brief but terrible periods when Will left him alone. It was always the rooms he dared not enter that he found himself trapped inside, both places crossing and interweaving like two parallel dimensions. It was fitting, Hannibal mused, that Will had become his anchor.

“I thought…you left…” Hannibal choked on the words, stomach acid rising sickeningly up his throat.

Will silenced him, fingertips to the side of his face, a soft shush whispered into his hair. A cool hand came in contact with his forehead and forced a sigh. Panic still sat heavy on his chest. It was suffocating.  Hannibal struggled for air, his breath coming in shallow little gasps. The more he struggled the worse he felt, the dizzying lack of air fueling his nausea. His side hurt as well with each breath, his stitches stretched tightly across tender skin.

“Your fever is getting worse,” Will said, absently rubbing circles across Hannibal’s back. ”Do I need to up the antibiotics again?”

Hannibal just moaned in response, his stomach beginning to burn its way up his throat.

Will had done all he could, found a small store of provisions in the medicine cabinet, fed Hannibal painkillers and antibiotics, tried to make sure he was drinking enough fluids, but he worried it wasn’t enough. Hannibal shivered. His grip on Will tightened.

“You were gone…” The words were mumbled into Will’s shirt. Hannibal hadn’t realized how bad he was shaking until his words came out disjointed and jittery.  “I was alone…”

“Well,  _technically_  you left this time,” Will said wrapping both arms tight around Hannibal’s trembling shoulders. A shudder ran through him suddenly and made Will curb his sarcasm.

“Hey…hey…it’s ok…I’m right here,” Will soothed as he pushed fingers through Hannibal’s hair, rocking them both slowly on the bathroom floor.  “I’m not going to leave…not ever again. I promise you.”

The world phased in and out for a moment and Hannibal felt his vision sway. The sickness in his stomach burned heavy.

“Will…I think…I need to be sick…” No sooner had he opened his mouth to speak, Hannibal gagged harshly against Will’s chest.

Strong arms lifted him and coaxed him to his knees. Will held him, an arm gingerly snaked around his waist, as Hannibal lurched forward to gag. Stomach muscles weak from effort spasmed underneath Will’s palm. The sounds of retching echoed off the bathroom tile. It sounded ragged and raw.

Hannibal spit out a bit of saliva that pooled on the floor in front of him. Pain shot through his stitches when the gagging stopped. Hannibal closed his eyes and let out a long and wasted moan.

“I know it hurts,” Will soothed while managing to keep Hannibal upright and somewhat over the toilet. Will knelt behind him and kept a hand pressed firmly against Hannibal’s stomach.

Hannibal laid his head against the cool ring of porcelain and sighed when it made contact with his cheek. When he opened his eyes the room was spinning, and when he closed them again he could still feel the motion. It was dizzying. He knew he needed to slow his breathing, to take long even breaths, but knowing and doing were two different things. Even with Will so close to him, even with the sound of his voice low and soothing, Hannibal couldn’t shake the fear that gripped him, the persistent dread that he was actually alone and Will was long gone.

Too weak to protest, his stomach rebelled again. He barely lifted his head up to gag this time. Will held him, a hand firmly across his wounded side. He tried in vain to take some of the effort from him so he didn’t pop his stitches as he strained to retch.

“Careful,” Will urged as Hannibal spit out another mouthful of saliva into the water and let out another long helpless moan.

“Will,” Hannibal mumbled the name sounding like a plea for help, his voice nearly shredded.

“I’m here,” Will whispered still on his knees, one hand applying firm pressure to Hannibal’s side, the other brushing the hair back from his forehead. It was a strange embrace but Will stayed close.

A weak and putrid stream spilled from parted lips and trickled into the water, and then a bit of coughing as he choked. Will recognized it was the soup he had persuaded Hannibal to eat earlier, albeit reluctantly.

“Common,” Will tried to be light hearted, “I know it wasn’t up to your standards, but canned soup isn’t that bad, is it?”

Hannibal was still coughing. He spit out a long strand of saliva that hung for a brief moment from his chin. Another cough that turned to retching had more burning liquid coming up, tinged yellow from the chicken broth. When he could breathe again his eyes lifted to meet Will’s.

“It wasn’t much different,” Hannibal managed between gasps for air, “on the way back up.”

Will sighed and rolled his eyes. He was more aware of his surroundings, now fully awake. He took note of where Hannibal had been sick before he found him, a few undigested noodles caught in the drain, vomit staining the sink. He wondered how long Hannibal had been alone before he had discovered that he was gone.

Hannibal gagged again but nothing more wanted to come up. He forced a few more dry heaves before laying his head down with a long sigh. For a moment he relaxed, his cheek pressed into the smooth porcelain surface.

Will took that opportunity to get up very slowly, pulling himself upright with an hand on the edge of the sink. He turned the faucet on and let the water run cold, washing the thick coating of vomit down the drain. When the water seemed it’s coldest, a wash cloth was soaked through. Hannibal winced when it made contact with his fever-warmed skin.

His eyes lifted, looked at Will like he was only a memory, one that was somehow in danger of being forgotten.

“Please…don’t leave.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Will soothed, the cloth pressed cool against Hannibal’s temple. The doctor’s eyes slipped shut letting himself indulge in Will’s tender touch. Will wiped his face, cloth pressed to parched lips, the air cooling against damp skin. Will’s touch, as always, was savored. His hands were gentle and patient. Hannibal leaned into them, still feeling uneasy but trying to force his concentration to Will instead of his stomach.

“Come here.”

Hannibal obeyed, lying across Will’s lap. The washcloth, already beginning to warm against his skin, was folded carefully and laid across the nape of his neck. Hands found their way into Hannibal’s hair, and the strands that had fallen haphazardly into his eyes were tucked gently behind one ear.

Will watched over him. He read the ebb and flow of pain as it spread across his features. Hannibal heaved a sigh. There was nothing left now to separate them; the mask had fallen away and he surrendered to its final destruction.

Will found he had to curb his empathy or risk being encompassed by it at times. There was nothing in the way of his connection with Hannibal now, and to say that they had begun to blur would be an understatement. Will found he had to put extra effort into separating his own emotions from Hannibal’s. Even now his keen senses picked up on the fear, the panic, and the helplessness that radiated off the other. He had to make a conscious effort to steel himself against it, or fear being swallowed by it. It would be so easy to slip away and join Hannibal in his current state of misery.

“What can I do?” Will asked gently. Hannibal moaned, not willing to risk words at the moment. “Why don’t you let me get you some water, maybe some medicin–”

Will motioned to get up but Hannibal stopped him. “I would greatly appreciate…as little movement as possible…”

“Alright,” Will leaned back against the tub, trying in vain to find a comfortable position on the hard tile floor. “So sleeping in the bed is out of the question then?”

“I don’t think I should be far from this room,” Hannibal mumbled, his voice sounding exhausted, “at least for the time being.”

“Fair enough,” Will said, reaching gingerly for the bath towel that hung above them over the shower curtain. He caught it as it fell and then spread it across Hannibal’s back, adjusting it so it covered him completely.

“You are  _still moving_ ,” Hannibal said, letting his eyes slip closed. After a moment of Will staying as still as he could manage, the nausea subsided enough that Hannibal thought perhaps he could sleep.

“I will try not to move if you try to rest,” Will whispered. Lips lingered softly against Hannibal’s forehead before a kiss was placed there. Hannibal sighed in response, curling into Will’s lap.

The room grew silent save the sounds of each other’s breath and the hum of the air as it kicked on. Even sprawled as they were on the bathroom floor Will knew he would have no trouble falling back to sleep. His battered body wanted nothing more than to slip back into unconsciousness for the next month or so. The warmth of the man lying across his lap only lulled him further.

“Will?” 

“Hmmm?” Will cleared his throat before he spoke, only the slightest tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “I’m still here…still right here on this  _very comfortable_  floor…without any feeling in most of my limbs.”

Hannibal hesitated, his words muffled warm against Will’s stomach, “Please… don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Will whispered, the sincerity of the anxious words causing an uncomfortable pang in his chest, “ I promise you…I won’t.”

~~~


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> baaaabes<3 it is your emeto anon again! And I loved the last one so much, you hit all of my buttons with that and it was amazing. <3 I've been running a little dry on my ideas lately, but I want to keep reading your writing! I'm worried that my prompts are getting lame and weirdly vague! D: I want Will sick this time, with a fever flu thing. And somewhere in public, like maybe the store or something? And Hannibal obvs has to swoop in and care for him. The car ride home is probably hell~~ <3
> 
> jaysop:
> 
> Not to worry e. a.  
> I’ve got you.  
> This took a little longer then expected but I hope you like :)

~~~

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to risk being seen?”

Hannibal put the car in park before shooting Will a sideways glance.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take for a meal that doesn’t come out of a can.” Hannibal placed a reassuring hand on Will’s knee. “Besides, we’re both dead men remember?”

Will didn’t make any motion to get out of the car.

“Would you rather wait here?”

He thought about it. He thought about reclining his seat and closing his eyes which sounded like a stellar idea. And he thought about Hannibal out in the open, thought about him being spotted by some random clerk busy stocking frozen peas, going for his cell phone, trying to be a hero. He thought about Hannibal snapping the clerk’s neck inside the big walk in refrigerator behind the dairy section, rows of orange juice and gallons of milk only partially hiding the carnage. He thought about uprooting their lives and running again. That last thought had him grumbling but unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Alright, but let’s make this quick.”

Will let out a rather melodramatic groan as he lifted himself out of the car. His whole body was stiff and sore. All he really wanted at that moment was to crawl back into the safe warm sanctuary of his bed. Will coughed roughly into his hand.

“Let’s see if we can pick up something for that cough, as well,” Hannibal said, the lilt in his voice cheerful, elated to be shopping in an actual store. The idea of things like olive oil, fresh bread, and of course some wine, were making him giddy.

“I’m not sick. Throat’s just a little dry,” Will mumbled, nonchalantly wiping his hand on his shirt.

“I didn’t say you were sick, Will, but now that you’ve brought it up I think it’s a possibility.” Hannibal gave Will his most minuscule grin.

“I’m not sick. Just tired.” He almost sounded like he believed it.

Despite Will’s denial, Hannibal had been silently monitoring him. The cough had started a few days ago, then a lack of energy, followed by a non-existent appetite. Body aches had set in this morning. Hannibal had watched when Will drug himself out of bed and rubbed along his tender ribs hugging in his stomach.

The fever was a new development. The bitter scent of sickness radiated off of Will on the drive over. Hannibal could taste it like salt when he licked his lips.

He hadn’t mentioned any of his observations to Will who would have only denied them anyway. Will was stubborn, he would hold out until his body broke him before admitting to anything. And of course he would fight it even longer after that until he had no choice but to give in. Hannibal smiled to himself, it was a quality he found quite admirable in Will, if not a little self destructive but still admirable. Observing the struggle was even more entertaining. And if he was left to pick up the pieces, well, he didn’t mind at all.

When they stepped inside, the store wasn’t busy. Hannibal had been sure to avoid the national grocery chains and selected this small specialty store instead for the sake of privacy. It had been over an hour out of their way but well worth it. Even dead men can’t be too careful.

Will followed on Hannibal’s heels, his eyes studying the geometric patterns on the tiled floor.  The cashier at the front greeted them when they walked past. It startled Will who almost walked into a display of canned beans. Hannibal nodded a cool and indifferent hello. They disappeared down an aisle and Will sighed sharply, little beads of perspiration beginning to form on his forehead.

“I can _feel_ her staring at us,” He whispered a finger prying the collar of his shirt away from his neck. “God, it’s hot in here…”

Hannibal was transfixed on rows of tall delicate bottles of olive oil. He finally decided on one turning it in his hand to read the description. When he looked up Will was trembling.

“Are you feeling alright?” Hannibal asked knowing full well what the answer would be. He reached out and tentatively grazed Will’s cheek with a gentle hand.

“M’fine,” Will said shying away from Hannibal’s touch, “I think I just…wore too many layers…”

Will wriggled out of his coat getting helplessly stuck in one arm. He struggled for a moment until Hannibal helped free him.

“Come, there are just a few more things we need and then we will get you into bed.”

“That sounds wonderful actually,” Will mumbled following along as Hannibal searched the neatly labeled shelves of wine for just the right bottle.

As he stood in the aisle, Will tried to be patient. He couldn’t help anxiously looking over his shoulder now and then, eyeing the cashier to make sure she wasn’t calling the police. She turned just in time to make direct eye contact.

“I told you she was staring at us,” Will whispered. “We need to leave, now.”

“She probably thinks you require her help.” Hannibal remained composed, a small smirk turning the corner of his lips.

“You’re not funny.”

Hannibal strolled down another aisle and picked two nice loaves of French bread, pressing on them lightly until he was satisfied with their freshness. Will was beginning to think he was taking his time on purpose.

The longer they stayed the worse Will felt. He couldn’t tell if it was his paranoia and anxiety or if he was indeed getting sick, but he started to feel a bit queasy. He swallowed hard against the saliva that had pooled in his mouth.

“Can we hurry it up here…I’m…not feeling so good…” Will was still looking nervously around. A hand on his shoulder startled him.

“Will…” Hannibal was worried now as he looked Will over. All the color had drained from his face and his breath seemed to be coming too quick. He reached out to him, gently touched his cheek to pull Will’s focus up from the floor. “Tell me what's wrong."

“M’not sure.” A sudden wave of dizziness made him nearly loose his balance. Hannibal grabbed his arm to right him but he swayed on unsteady legs.

“Can you walk to the car? I’ll give you the keys and then I’ll be right ou--”

Will’s eyes went wide. He gripped Hannibal’s arm tight, afraid to speak as a wave of nausea washed over him.

“I think…I think I’m gonna be sick.” Will choked out the words. Hannibal discarded his grocery basket and slid an arm around Will’s waist.

“Let’s get you outside,” he soothed, shouldering Will’s full weight. "Some fresh air will help."

Another wave came and Will found he was unable to move. He just stood there, his vision swimming, his face burning hot. After a putrid burp he clamped a hand over his mouth. Then the brief moment, maybe the span of two heartbeats, before Will dipped his head forward and gagged into his hand. When nothing came of it he turned and buried his face in Hannibal’s coat.

Hannibal held him. They both stood very still. Will hoped if he didn't move maybe the feeling would go away. Maybe he could force enough composure to make it out the door.  His hand was still clamped tightly to his mouth. Will let out a tiny groan as the heaviness in his belly became too intense to ignore. 

There was no time to react really. Will leaned into Hannibal’s chest and gagged. Strands of warm vomit streamed out from between his clenched fingers. Hannibal still held him, not even fazed in the least when most of the sick ended up dousing the front of him.

Will slowly took his hand away. He looked up at the vision of Hannibal that danced and wavered in front of his eyes. His expression seemed more concerned than wrathful, but Will’s face still stung with embarrassment at the mess that slid down Hannibal’s red sweater.

And then the smell of sickness, the acidic taste in his mouth. He couldn’t help it. Will leaned forward and heaved into his hand. A thick fountain of grayish milky liquid splattered into Will’s palm and landed on the floor in front of his shoes. The warm sick gathered in a disgusting puddle. Will coughed and spit into it before Hannibal could get his attention.

“Perhaps we will have to cut this trip short,” Hannibal whispered practically dragging Will along with him. Will managed to walk with Hannibal’s help but his stomach still twisted uncomfortably under his palm. The taste of bitter bile stuck in his throat and made him cough.

The cashier caught them on the way out and Will’s heart dropped. He hid his face against Hannibal’s shoulder as they walked past her, partially out of fear of being recognized but mostly out of embarrassment.

“It’s alright my love,” Hannibal shushed, his voice a whisper only Will could hear, a hand helping to block Will’s face from prying eyes.

“So much for leaving undetected,” Will mumbled. He stifled an unproductive gag against the other’s shoulder. Hannibal was tender in his movements, his hand flat against Will’s stomach as he steadied him.

They made it to the car and Will fell into his seat. He let out an anguished sound before dropping his head into both hands.

“Ugh…you just can’t take me anywhere…” Will’s eyes were glassy when he looked up at Hannibal. His sweater had streaks of cooling vomit outlined starkly against its crimson hue. Will quickly looked away. 

“Here, let me help.” Hannibal knelt in front of him, his voice gentle.

A neatly folded square of paper towel dabbed at his mouth and wiped down his chin and neck.  Another wiped the palm of his hand and then gently between each finger. Shame welled up in Will’s throat.

“Will, it’s ok. You’re sick. You couldn’t help it.” Hannibal tried to force his gaze once he was satisfied that Will was cleaned up.

"Let’s just go," Will whimpered. He reclined his seat as far back as it would go and curled onto his side. Hannibal placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head before closing his door.

~~~

Hannibal found it difficult to keep his eyes on the road. He had draped Will’s coat over him like a blanket but underneath it he still shivered in his damp clothes. Hannibal couldn’t help stealing glances now and then.

The stale scent of vomit mixed together with the sharp tinge of fevered sweat. It overpowered his finely tuned senses. At the same time there was something beautiful about the way Will suffered, the way his features contorted into a small grimace of pain, the way he trembled and squirmed in his seat unable to get comfortable, the way little beads of sweat broke and slid down the sides of his face; Hannibal didn’t want to miss a moment of it.  

“Are you doing any better, my love?”

“I hope that was a rhetorical question.” His words wavered as he shot Hannibal a look of disdain.

They were only a few minutes into the hour long drive and he was already feeling carsick. He tried to focus on Hannibal, on being sarcastic, on anything other than his rolling stomach but it was proving impossible. Will shut his eyes and let out a rather helpless groan.

"Should I stop the car?" Hannibal asked. He reached over and placed a hand on Wills thigh.

"No, I just wanna go home," Will managed, but the act of talking seemed to make him feel worse. He hugged his sour stomach and shut his eyes again.

Hannibal kept an eye on him, watched his fight against the inevitable continue for the next few miles as they drove in silence. It wasn’t until he bolted up straight, a hand braced against the dash, that Hannibal started looking for a good place to pull over.

“It’s getting worse,” Will whined, his whole body swaying, the rough road making him cringe.

“Try to breathe through it,” Hannibal urged as the road narrowed around the bend. He was trying to drive as smoothly as the winding country roads would allow but Will wasn’t going to last much longer.  

He was quiet for a minute or two, his breathing turned ragged. Hannibal was quite impressed with Will’s resolve through it all. It was another mile before he put his head between his knees.

“Hannibal…pull over...” the words were muffled but urgent.

Will retched painfully before Hannibal could stop the car. A trickle of burning liquid forced its way up his throat. It was sour and disgusting. Will choked on it, barely aware that Hannibal had cut the engine off, his full attention turned to Will. He reached across him and rolled down the window. Will scrambled towards it, hanging himself over the edge.

His shirt was soaked through with sweat, messy curls matted to his face. Hannibal had placed a hand on Will’s back in time to feel him retch, a stream of sick landing along the roadside. He watched him with morbid fascination as his muscles tensed and spasmed. Hannibal began rubbing his back as he started to cough.

When Will thought perhaps the worst was over he hauled himself back into his seat. He was out of breath and his throat felt as if he had recently gargled broken glass. Will tried to swallow and whimpered.

“We can take as long as you need,” Hannibal soothed, pushing the damp curls off of his face and wiping Will’s mouth with the cuff of his sleeve.

Tears balanced at the corners of his eyes and Hannibal realized he was witnessing Will’s breaking point, the moment when he stopped fighting, the moment when he surrendered himself, and there was something breathtakingly beautiful about it. Hannibal reached out to Will, his thumb stroking a path down his jaw line. Will closed his eyes then and leaned into Hannibal’s cool touch.

“What I need…is to be out of this car….” Will mumbled, letting Hannibal card through his messy curls. Will moaned softly, soothed by the other’s tender touches. “It just really hurts.”

Hannibal was immersed in Will’s suffering now.  He paused committing the scene to memory as Will curled up again in his seat. His coat was pulled back over trembling shoulders and the window raised a little before Hannibal was satisfied that he had done all he could.

“Just take me home…please…” Will stuttered the words between a shiver.

It was difficult for Hannibal to force his concentration to driving again but he pulled back out onto the road anyway, stealing glances at Will just the same.

Will noticed this time.

He felt for the other’s hand and their fingers intertwined together. Hannibal’s face softened, the contact just what he was craving. It was a strange feeling, this urge to revel in Will’s suffering but also the overwhelming desire to comfort him, to just hold him, to somehow take his pain from him. It was a paradox Hannibal wasn’t quite used to dealing with. He was almost surprised when Will squeezed his hand and something inside his chest fluttered. A thin smile, barely distinguishable, began to form across his face.

Hannibal took it slow, mindful of his precious cargo. Will was quiet for a while, still holding onto Hannibal’s free hand like a lifeline.  It was several minutes before he spoke up, his voice exhausted and small.

“Hannibal…”

“Yes love?”

“We can’t go back to that store.”

“No. I don’t believe we can.”

~~~


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> Incarcerated murder husbands with adjacent glass cells, will gets really sick and Hannibal can't do anything all he can do is watch will sick up over and over trying to talk him through it but all in all hannibal feels helpless he can't help his will
> 
> jay-sop:
> 
> Ok nonny. I like this idea. 
> 
> Imagine if you will, Hannibal and Will separated from each other in opposite cells with only glass between them. Hannibal deals with it ok at first, slipping into his mind palace to give the illusion they are close, that nothing actually separates them, and he can make do with living this way, up until when Will gets sick, then the illusion just isn’t enough for him. Everything seems too real, the boundary between them suddenly concrete, when Hannibal can’t hold him, when he can’t comfort Will as he starts to shiver and cough. It tears at him when he can’t go to him when Will calls out his name and wakes him in the middle of the night, not like Hannibal was getting much sleep anyway, too worried about Will, just listening in the dark to his breathing, huddled close to the glass wall that separates them.

~~~

He had only closed his eyes for a moment. It was enough time that when he opened them again he had to wait for the room to come into focus.

Slowly his vision adjusted to the dark. Parts of him came back to life. He felt the tingle of pins and needles through his legs that had fallen asleep against the concrete floor. His neck was stiff, head propped uncomfortably against the cold glass wall that separated them.

Will was huddled a few meager inches away, wrapped in the gray polyester sheet he had torn from his bed. Hannibal pressed his fingers lightly to the glass and thought for a moment he could feel the other’s breath, warm and ragged, against his skin.

Will mumbled Hannibal’s name. His eyelids fluttered as he drifted in and out of consciousness, his fever raging now as he tried in vain to rest.

Hannibal had convinced him to at least cover himself with something if he was to insist on sleeping on the cold floor. Somehow in his fever addled state it had seemed more comfortable at the time, and it closed the gap that separated them which was a small but welcome comfort.

Will murmured something unintelligible. Dark strands of hair lay matted and damp against his forehead. Shoulders trembled underneath drab gray, dark patches of sweat beginning to show through. Hannibal sighed, his stark features softening into an expression of frustration.

“I’m right here, love,” he whispered into the dark, a hitch in his voice bordering on sadness. When his words traveled through the air they lost something, muted by the layers of glass between them.

Will slowly opened his eyes and they were bloodshot and hazy. A trembling hand met Hannibal’s, heat radiating off him, fogging up a palm print against the glass.

“Did you dream?” Hannibal asked. His voice was deep with unwanted emotion that he tried to choke back.

“Not sure.” Will’s voice was rough. He adjusted underneath the sheet pulling it tight across his shoulders. “I don’t remember.”

All Hannibal could do was watch him. The urge to reach out and press a hand to his cheek tore into Hannibal’s chest. He took a deep breath to settle himself.

“I think I’m dying.” Will croaked out the words between uneven breaths.

“You’re not dying,” Hannibal said, his voice even, “It’s a viral infection. All you can do is let it run its course. And I suspect you will feel much worse before you feel any better.”

Will lowered his eyes and shivered.

 “You’re optimism is always so uplifting,” he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. A moan escaped him as his stomach turned. He swallowed thickly.

Hannibal seemed wounded by the sound. He let his forehead rest against the glass, as if he could somehow get closer to Will, as if perhaps the barrier that separated them might dissolve away. And then he was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to heave a chair through it, even though he knew it would do little good.

“You should really try to sleep in a proper bed,” he offered. Will rolled his shoulders and Hannibal heard him swallow again before sucking in a quick gasp of air.

“There’s nothing proper…about that bed,” He said the tremor in his voice more apparent now, “I think…I quite prefer the floor.”

Hannibal could hear Will’s breath quicken. He winced at the little sounds Will made in his throat, the tiny moans and mutters of pain that passed through him. Will hunched forward and hugged his stomach and all Hannibal could do stay awake with him, inches away and helpless.

“I feel really awful…” Will muttered. His stomach gurgled audibly beneath his palm. “Ugh…I hate this.”

“It will pass.” Hannibal spoke softly to him. Will leaned his forehead against the glass and moaned. There was a sickening heaviness building inside his stomach and his throat was beginning to feel tight. He took a few short breaths but he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

“It hurts,” Will said, his voice trembling with each uneven breath. “Mmf…really hurts.”

 “I’m here,” Hannibal soothed his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m right here with you.”

Will swallowed again, his throat bobbing as he struggled. He felt his face flush with dizzying heat. He reached out to grab the metal pail that had been left unceremoniously inside his cell that morning, the full extent of any medical care he was going to receive, and dragged it across the concrete floor and into his lap.

“Will,” Hannibal leaned in to try and catch Will’s downcast eyes. “You need to try to slow your breathing.”

Panicked eyes flicked back at him as Will took another shuttering breath. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can. Will, look at me.” Hannibal’s tone was firm and forced Will’s eyes up from the floor to meet his own. “Just follow my breath. Try to match it.”

Hannibal took an exaggerated breath in and Will attempted to mimic him, but his exhale was shaky and he coughed through it.

“That’s it,” He whispered before taking another deep breath for Will to follow.

“I think I’m gonna throw up…” Will whimpered hanging his head above the bucket. He coughed again and then spit out a long string of drool. “Oh god…”

“Its alright,” Hannibal soothed. “It should give you some relief."

Will hung his head low and closed his eyes.

He lurched forward when his stomach seized and then gagged loudly, the sound echoing off the metal sides of the bucket. More saliva slid down his chin. Will tried to spit it out before it choked him.

"I wish...you were here..." Will mumbled, before spitting out another mouthful of saliva.

Hannibal placed both hands on the glass. "I am. I'm right here. I'm right beside you."

"But you aren't," Will moaned. His vision swam and he doubled over again.

Hannibal watched helplessly as Will’s body pitched forward. Beads of sweat broke across his forehead and dripped off the ends of dampened curls. His shoulders trembled and all Hannibal wanted to do in that moment was wrap an arm around him and put a stop to his shivering.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was look on as Will gagged harshly into the bucket. All he could do was be a silent observer as Will struggled and shook. The wall that cut the space between them seemed like a dividing ocean now. He couldn’t be any further away.

“Will…” Hannibal’s voice was pleading.

“Please…” Will moaned, saliva slipping past his lips and hanging for a moment as he swayed. “I need you.”

Will reeled from the fever as it burned through him. Pain seared into his ribs as he heaved, finally ending in a torrent of choking liquid that splattered into the bucket in his lap. He let out a small whimper as he coughed and sputtered.

Hannibal was beside himself now. He tried to remind himself that no, this wasn’t a life threatening illness. Will would probably feel much better in the morning and slowly in the following days he would recover fully.

But none of that mattered now.

Not now as he watched Will gag again, more vomit tinged pink with blood pouring from him. Not now as he closed his eyes and heard Will call out to him, pleading for him, begging for him to be there.

There was a small respite in between heaving that gave Will a much needed chance to breathe. He wiped a shaky hand across his chin and let out a heavy sigh.

And then, he felt a hand at his back. Familiar fingers carded through his damp hair, pushed the curls from his forehead, and gently wiped away the tears that were running down fever-blushed cheeks.  

“Hannibal…how…”

“Shush…” Hannibal soothed, his movements tender, his voice calm. “Close your eyes. I’m here with you. Can’t you feel my hands in your hair?”

Will quieted then, and he kept his eyes closed. Hannibal’s strong arms were around him, holding him steady. His touch felt like ice against Will’s skin.

“This…isn’t real…” Will said and opened his eyes only to see Hannibal beside him.  

“It is as real as you want it to be.”

Hannibal held him and slowly quelled his shaking. The illusion was complete now as cool hands cradled the side of Will’s face. Will’s memory did the rest and the wall between them melted away as he sank into the other’s arms.

“Am I…hallucinating?” Will’s voice wavered with uncertainty.

“No,” Hannibal soothed, placing a kiss to the top of Will’s head. “It’s more like…remembering. Remembering the way it feels to be held. Remembering the way it feels when you are close to me. I can share this with you, Will. You are perhaps the only other person in the world I can share this with.”

“Lucky for me,” Will mumbled, the small respite in his sickness coming to an end. He cringed as a new wave of nausea washed over him and then gave into it with a long moan. “I think I’m gonna be sick…”

Hannibal felt the way Will’s small form began to tremble in his arms. He felt that tremor creep up Will’s back before he leaned forward to retch, and then placed a hand against Will’s stomach feeling the muscles strain underneath his fingers.

A stream of vomit poured from him. He coughed and choked at the end, spitting into the gathering mess. Before he had time to breathe Will gagged and retched again, a thin burning trickle spilling from his lips. Another pause and then Will was dry heaving with nothing left in his stomach to give up but bitter bile.

“Ugh…its hurts,” Will moaned, coughing and spitting the rancid taste out of his mouth. His ribs were burning from the effort, and a sting of pain shot through them with each shuttering breath he took.

“It’s alright, love,” Hannibal soothed. “I’m here.”

Will let himself be cradled in Hannibal’s arms, let the other soothe and rock him until his breathing began to slow.  He could feel Hannibal’s warm breath ghosting against his skin as he whispered shushes to him. The thin gray sheet was brought back up around his shoulders, the edge of it used to gently wipe the sick from his chin.

“Just rest, my love,” Hannibal whispered, hands carding through Will’s damp hair, tucking the loose strands behind his ear. “Just rest and I will be here when you wake.”

Exhausted, Will let his eyes slip shut, surrounded in the warmth of the other, comforted by the stability of Hannibal’s embrace, and the heady familiar scent of his skin.

When the morning came, and breakfast was brought in promptly on two seperate trays, they were both still fast asleep. Hannibal was curled uncomfortably on the floor facing Will who mirrored him on the other side, tangled in the thin gray sheet, sleepy breath fogging against the glass barrier that still separated them.

~~~


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> Can you write something set post finale where Hannibal does anything he can to please Will but he's still recovering and the exhaustion from working so hard leads to his already weakened immune system (he's still healing from a gunshot wound to the stomach) not functioning well and him getting sick. But he continues to bend over backwards to please will who eventually has to sit Hannibal down and explain that he's not going to leave for anything let alone because Hannibal's sick
> 
> jaysop:
> 
> The fact that it takes me a while to answer prompts is such an understatement. This has been sitting in my inbox for probably over a month I don’t even know. 
> 
> I’ve been having issues writing at all lately so I’m pretty stoked that I finished something finally XD I hope you like it nonny!

~~~

 

Hannibal leaned over the kitchen sink, both hands firmly planted, elbows locked straight, trying to breathe evenly through his nose.

Chicken soup simmered on the stove top, Will tending to it with a wooden spoon, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Hannibal who insisted he help in some way instead of waiting on the couch as Will had suggested. The color drained away from his face, skin ashen gray. His back stiffened, the muscles in his forearms taught and rigid.

Hannibal swallowed audibly, jaw clenched tight. Will turned his attention away from the soup, setting it on low and placing the wooden spoon down in its rest.

“You alright?” Will asked the question even though he was already sure of the answer.

“I’m just…feeling…a bit…off."

Will placed a gentle hand on the back of Hannibal’s neck, coming in contact with cool clammy skin. Hannibal sucked in a quick breath. His own voice sounded strange to him, strangled and low. His heart was racing, heavy pulse thudding in his ears. Hannibal gripped the cool metallic edge of the sink as sweat began to bead across his forehead. He forced a deep breath to steady himself, as slow and even a breath as he could manage. The room seemed to breathe with him, contracting in and then expanding back out like an inanimate set of lungs.

Each breath he took settled in his rib cage and made him even more aware of the gunshot wound, barely healed, burning like a tiny ember in his side. He released his grip on the sink to wrap an arm around himself, pressing sickeningly into the bandages to stifle the pain that came with each gulp of air.

“Hannibal?”

Will’s voice sounded distorted, as if he were speaking under water. Hands were on him, an arm snaked around his waist and steadied him. The room began to tilt and spin and Hannibal tried to blink the dizziness from his eyes which only made it worse. Will watched him claw desperately at composure, heat beginning to rise in his chest. The now nauseating smell of chicken broth was overpowering. His head tipped forward, bobbing as he struggled to swallow.

“Hey…you’re alright…”Will was talking to him through the ether. The words washed through him and he shivered. This loss of control was as frightening as it was embarrassing. Hannibal’s face burned hot.

He shut his eyes and gagged.

Will’s hand covered his own, held tight against the bandages. Stomach muscles clenched and spasmed underneath it. Pain shot into his side bright and burning. He spit out a mouthful of saliva into the drain and blinked tears out of his eyes.

“Ugh…I think I tore a stitc--” The words were choked out of him as he retched, sick spilling from him, hitting the stainless steel sink in a violent splatter amongst half washed plates and utensils. Hannibal reeled from the exertion, his vision still swimming, arm clutched tightly across his stomach. With barely enough time for a full breath he lurched forward and threw up another stream of burning liquid.

“It’s alright…” Will soothed, “It’s alright…I’ve got ya.”

Hannibal spit into the sink, trying hard to ignore the mess that stared back at him. Still dizzy he wavered, head lolling forward. He grit his teeth and let out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a whimper. Every muscle in his body seized as another heave brought up a thin trickle of vomit.  

There was a brief moment of calm before Hannibal started to dry heave. Will reached over and turned on the faucet letting it run cold.

“Here, try to rinse your mouth,” Will coaxed.

Hannibal awkwardly craned his neck to sip from the tap. He spit out the first mouthful, desperate to rid himself of the bitter taste of bile and stomach acid. He swallowed the next sip and then took a gulp, and then a few more before Will interrupted him with a “Hey, slow down. You don’t want to--”

There was no time to react when the water rushed back up his throat. Hannibal hunched over the sink, his eyes wide, stomach muscles straining. Strangely, the water was still cold but now mixed with the remnants of his breakfast. He let out an exhausted grown as a final heave streamed a thin dribble of warm sick down his chin and neck.

"I tried to warn you.” Will cupped his hand under the running water and rinsed the sick from Hannibal’s face. “I’m not sure why I thought you would listen, but I did try.”

Another growl of displeasure. Will let the water run until most of the sick had been washed away. When it seemed safe to move, Will coaxed Hannibal into the living room, a hand steady at his back as they walked, Hannibal still trying to slow his breathing.

“Please…just…sit down before you fall down.”  Will’s voice was stern. He placed a heavy hand on Hannibal’s shoulder.

"This is unnecessary. I'm fine."

"It's not a suggestion, Hannibal."

Hannibal quit his protest and let Will push him onto the couch. His head reeled from the motion. He hugged his stomach, ribs sore and aching from the exertion.  

"It was only a dizzy spell. It’s nothing to be concerned about." Hannibal winced as he tried to accommodate his tender stitches with an awkward stretch. There was an unpleasant empty feeling in his stomach now. He swallowed convulsively against the saliva that insisted on pooling under his tongue.

"Well then, watch me be completely unconcerned." Will touched the back of his hand to Hannibal’s cheek and winced when he made contact with fevered skin. “I’m right about some things, you know,” Will felt his forehead with a flat palm, “You do feel very warm.”

“We were just in the kitchen.”

“You were drying dishes, Hannibal.”

Hannibal hummed a rather deflated agreement.

Will was giving him that look, somewhere between frustration and worry, the one that meant he had better listen if he knows what’s good for him. That look always stirred something in him. A tiny smirk curved into his lips as he watched Will rummage through the first aid box left open on the coffee table. 

Hands were on him, pulling up his shirt to examine the bandages, and upon a rather short examination peeling them back. Hannibal gritted his teeth as gauze was separated from skin. The sour smell of the wound began to turn his stomach again.

“Well…everything appears intact,” Will said pressing lightly against angry looking skin. “You’re bleeding a little but the stitches are ok.” Hannibal sighed as Will dabbed at his side with a bit of gauze, soaking up a minimal amount of blood. “But, you know, it would heal a lot faster if you listened to me.”

Hannibal huffed a sigh as Will pressed the gauze tight to stop the bleeding.  

 “It’s ok if it hurts. It’s supposed to hurt. Means its healing.” Fresh gauze was taped into place. Will kept his eyes on his work. “Healing is supposed to hurt, Hannibal.”

Hannibal stretched back against the couch cushions. He put his hand on top of Will’s stopping his work. “Some wounds heal quicker than others.”

Will’s eyes were still downturned, focused on the fresh bandage, clean and white against Hannibal’s skin. He checked the tape, making sure it wasn’t too tight.

“And some wounds never heal,” Will said absently, as he pulled Hannibal’s cotton shirt back down, covering the fresh bandages. Will began packing the first aid kit away, his eyes still focused on his task. “Some are meant to be kept, to be a reminder. Mine will always be there, just in case I should need them.”

Hannibal’s face was beginning to flush. He tilted his head and peered at Will with half open eyes. “And what do they remind you?” He asked trying to turn his attention away from his sour stomach.

“They remind me of who I am,” Will said, fingertips grazing the deep scar on his cheek. “They can’t lie. They are a historical map of the truth. They are directions if I ever loose myself.”

“And…” Hannibal swallowed hard against the tightness that was forming in his throat, “…your map…the one that’s written on your skin…where does it lead you?”

Will tucked the first aid kit back in its home underneath the coffee table. He sat down on the couch beside Hannibal who settled comfortably against his side, head rested heavy against Will’s shoulder. Will studied him. He looked exhausted and still a bit shaky. He couldn’t help but card fingers through his messy hair, pushing it back from his forehead.  

 “It only ever seems to lead me to you.”

Hannibal gingerly brought his legs up on the couch. With a rather large amount of effort he readjusted to lie on his good side, head nestled comfortably in Will’s lap.

“And what of the day it leads you somewhere else--”

“Stop,” Will whispered, a hand cupping the side of Hannibal’s face. “I’m right here. I want to be right here. With you. I don’t have any plans to be anywhere else.”

Hannibal sighed as Will began to trace lazy patterns across his back. The words were meant to reassure but he still felt useless like this. Useless and weak and--

“Even if I am…broken?” The words escaped him before he had time to consider the weight of them.

Will didn’t hesitate. He leaned down and kissed the top of his head, and then a whisper, breath warm in Hannibal’s hair.

“Especially if you are broken.”

 ~~~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt (@Damngood):
> 
> Just to have a little kinda-flashback of season one, I would love to see Hannibal getting sick during a session with Will. Instead of encephalitis! Will, can we have sick! Hannibal? Hannibal trying to act fine and continue on, maybe?
> 
> jaysop:
> 
> Ah yes, season 1 hannigram. Will is still unaware, if not blissfully so (well, as blissful as Will ever is, in a small despondent sort of way), of Hannibal’s true intentions, or his true feelings for that matter. Hannibal is still discovering new things about Will that never fail to set his senses on fire. And it’s made him curious. Will is starting to desperately claw at reality and Hannibal is there to keep him right, slowly becoming his anchor. There’s still that lovely tension between them, the little awkward phase of their relationship where Hannibal is testing his boundaries and Will still doesn’t make much eye contact and insists on calling him “Dr. Lecter”. 
> 
> I love this idea. I’ve been writing a lot of post fall stuff lately so this is going to be fun. I think I’m going to do something a little different and write this one entirely from Will’s perspective.

~~~

He studied the shoes, such fine attention to detail, small uniform stitching across polished mahogany wingtips, probably Italian leather, probably expensive. The office was quiet, lighting turned lower than Will thought was appropriate for a doctor’s office.  Although his eyes had shifted to the floor, Will sensed Hannibal leaning slightly forward in his chair, closing the gap between them, the cuff of his pant leg rising a few inches to reveal brown and red argyle socks.

“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”

His voice was soft and melodic. Will became entranced by the vibrations of its tone and lost the question somewhere along the way. He wished Hannibal would just continue talking instead of letting the silence suck all the air out of the room.

“Will?”

A hand grazed his cheek. Will shied away at first, as tentative fingers carded into his hair and stroked the side of his face. Human contact brought him back into the moment, grounded him. It was a tactic Hannibal had used before, and Will found he was getting accustomed to such touches.

“I lost you for a moment,” Hannibal said. His fingertips were cold. Will shivered as Hannibal withdrew, goose bumps cropping up along his arms. Hannibal coughed, clearing his throat. “Where were you just now?”

Will adjusted his glasses and finally looked at the man across from him. “Nowhere, I guess.”

Hannibal leaned back in his chair. He was the one to break eye contact this time. Another uneasy cough.

“I suspect you haven’t been sleeping well,” Hannibal said, swallowing between his words, “Are you still…struggling with nightmares?”

He was but Will didn’t answer. He was having trouble focusing on their conversation. He was too busy noticing the tiny beads of sweat that dotted the edge of the other man’s hair line. He was transfixed on the uncharacteristic way he kept fidgeting with the top button on his shirt, and the way his throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

“Dr. Lecter,” Will asked hesitantly, “are you feeling alright?”

Red eyes studied him. Will watched the muscles along his jaw work. Hannibal spoke slowly, “You’re deflecting, Will. We were talking about how _you’re_ feeling… and you’ve been…avoiding the questions.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” Will trailed off as he watched Lecter loosen his tie. He was clearly uncomfortable. The doctor sucked in a quick breathe and let his eyes close for a moment. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Hannibal managed, his breathe getting caught in his throat. Will watched the slight tremble in his hands before he folded them to hide their shaking.

“I could come back some other time if--”

“There’s no need,” Hannibal said, his half hearted attempt at retaining composure failing miserably. “It would be a shame…for your session to go to waste.”

Neither man spoke for a time. The dead air filled up with the sound of Lecter’s shallow breath. Will found himself listening rather intently, picking up the little nuances in each stutter, feeling second hand as if he were choking. The sensation was familiar and it lit up like panic in Will’s veins. He watched silently until something made him get up, and then he was crossing the room, until he was right next to Hannibal, a hand placed on his shoulder.

 “You should try to lie down,” Will said. He was close enough now that he could see the edges of Hannibal’s hair damp and sticking to the sides of his face. A few strands had fallen into his eyes. His shoulders shuddered underneath Will’s touch.

"Your concern is unwarranted, Will," Hannibal said, "I can assure you I'm alright. We can contin--"

"Stop." Will cut him off. "You are aware of my abilities, as you’ve put it. It’s unnecessary to lie to me, Dr. Lecter. I think we both know something is wrong.”

Hannibal nodded, his expressions miniscule, but it was enough of an acknowledgment for Will to start urging him to his feet. He struggled to lift the taller man by the arm.

Hannibal leaned heavily on Will, a bit more than he had expected him to and Will had to readjust underneath his weight. A blush crept into his cheeks. He had never been this close to Hannibal before, not close enough to smell the sour scent of sweat on his skin, or close enough to feel the surprisingly soft curve of his stomach as he held him around the waist.

They both dropped down in unison onto the couch, Hannibal bracing himself against Will’s knee. Still so close Will could feel the sickness rolling off of him. He motioned to get up but Hannibal stopped him, hand on his thigh.

“Please, stay for a moment,” Hannibal said in a strangled tone as if the words hurt.

“D-Do you…need anything?” Will stuttered, the grip on his leg a little tighter than was comfortable. “Maybe a glass of water...or something?”

Hannibal didn’t answer. He seemed to be concentrating on his breathing. Before he really gave much thought to the idea, Will reached out and placed a hand on Hannibal’s stomach. Hannibal hummed in response to the contact.  

“I just…I thought maybe…when I was a kid it helped sometimes…when I had a stomachache…” Will quickly covered, feeling heat rise to his face. Hannibal closed his eyes and pressed Will’s palm against his belly.

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Will,” Hannibal said, a slight tremor in his voice. “It’s very kind of you…to try to make me feel better…”

With Hannibal’s coaxing, Will undid the buttons along his waistcoat and then slipped a warm hand underneath his shirt to press gingerly against cramping muscles. The moment seemed overly intimate; the touch of warm fingertips against taught skin, the press of their bodies as Hannibal leaned into him, the uneven tremors of labored breath, and the unspoken trust that had already formed. Will found himself spreading fingers across Hannibal’s broad back, wishing he could soothe the other.

Hannibal closed his eyes and rested his head against Will’s shoulder. Will was glad the room was bathed in darkness, the nearest light coming from Hannibal’s desk at the other end of the office. It hid his reaction to all of this, but it also made it easier to focus, as if the room only consisted of Will and Hannibal and a few other things in their small orbit, like the couch, the wall behind them; everything else had effectively ceased to exist, swallowed up by shadows. Will took off his glasses. It helped to solidify the illusion.

Muscles tensed underneath Will’s fingers. He felt a shiver run down Lecter’s back underneath where he had begun to rub.

“Did I hurt you?” Will didn’t mean for the words to sound so timid. Hannibal cleared his throat before responding.

“No, you didn’t,” Hannibal muttered, his breathing turning over to quick gasps between his words. “It’s getting a bit worse,” a pause before he continued, “Will, would you bring me something to be sick in?”

Hannibal had gone pale, his normally stoic eyes glassy, panicked. Will searched the room. He snatched the waste paper basket from underneath Hannibal’s deck and unceremoniously dumped it out onto the floor, little bits of crumpled paper and pencil shavings scattering about. When he returned to the other’s side and handed it to him, Hannibal hugged it to his stomach, his knuckles gone white from the tension.

Head lolling forward, lips parted, Hannibal hovered above the rim of the basket, saliva beginning to slide down his chin. He let out a small whimper. Will didn’t like the sound. It felt unnatural to see Hannibal in any state other than total control over himself and his surroundings. This was disjointed, out of place, and surreal like one of Will’s hallucinations. He took a deep slow breath and tried to ground himself. Hannibal felt warm underneath his arm, his breath sounded real, but Will’s eyes still struggled to focus in the dark. Will still wasn’t convinced that they weren’t deceiving him somehow.

“You should try to throw up,” Will offered his voice sounding strange to him in the silence, “It’ll make you feel better.”

Hannibal coughed and then spit out a mouthful of saliva. His current state of disorder humanized him in a way Will thought was endearing. He wrapped a protective arm about him in an attempt to quell the shaking. Hannibal had gone cold, his eyes squeezed shut. Will could only watch as he continued to fight it, desperately, jaw clenched, shallow breathes forced in and out his nose.

This entire situation was bothering Will on a level he couldn’t quite describe in words. He didn’t want to see Hannibal in pain. He cared about him, more than their professional relationship had allowed thus far, and far more than just empathizing with him. That didn’t explain the tightness in his chest as he watched the other struggle. It didn’t explain the urge to hold him until he stopped shaking.

Will gently coaxed Hannibal into leaning forward. He resisted at first, frozen in his stance, until Will spoke shushes to him and whispered, “Just trust me,” as he guided him over the waste bin.   

Hannibal finally acquiesced and adjusted himself to hunch forward. Will loosened his tie and undid the first button of his collared shirt pulling the fabric away from his throat. Hannibal coughed again, spitting out a long string of clear saliva. Delicately, Will tucked a few strands of long hair behind his ear and returned his hand to his back, where he began to rub in long upward strokes.

“Try not to fight it,” Will soothed, rubbing up the expanse of Hannibal’s back. He didn’t seem to be listening. Every muscle in his back was tensed, his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth.

“Hannibal…” Will used his first name. He hadn’t meant to, it just happened. “Hannibal, do you trust me?”

A rather pathetic sounding hum and Hannibal nodded.

“Alright,” Will adjusted to sit on the edge of the couch. He took the bin out of Hannibal’s grip and held it steady in his lap. “Try to relax,” Will soothed, “and open your mouth.”

Hannibal did as he was told. He stopped swallowing, a steady line of drool hanging from his parted lips. Just the motion of Will urging him to lean forward, his head hanging into the bin, hair falling haphazardly into his eyes, and air rushed up his throat in a sick sounding belch.

“There, that’s it,” Will coaxed.

Another belch followed and then Will pressed the flat of his palm against Hannibal’s tender stomach. His head hung limp, a gag echoing into the empty bin. A quick breathe and then a deep sounding retch brought up a bit more saliva and a thin trickle of vomit. Hannibal shuddered.

With barely enough time to snatch another breath he gagged again, deeper this time. Will was right there with him, holding the bin steady for him as he heaved. Milky brown colored sick gushed from him in a disgusting torrent. Without more than a few seconds between heaves he brought up more, darker this time, coating the inside of the bin. There was a brief respite when Will thought perhaps it was over, but without any effort on Hannibal’s part more poured from him, sliding down his chin and neck, splattering into the gathering sick.

“It’s alright,” Will reassured, his voice barely a whisper, “It’ll be over soon enough.”

A pitiful moan and Will was rubbing his back in slow soothing circles as he dry heaved. Face red and shining with sweat, Hannibal finally straightened up, panting as he struggled to breathe.

He spit into the mess and then tensed again, his body locked rigid before he was forced into another painful heave. For several uneasy minutes Will rode it out with him, until the spasms finally ended and he could take the bin from his lap.

Breath began to slow as Will wiped some of the sick from Hannibal’s chin with the cuff of his shirt. The gesture was a tender one, but somehow it seemed second nature now to want to be tender. Before he really gave much thought to it Will guided Hannibal to toe off his shoes and draw long legs up onto the couch, pulling him to lay down on his side, head rested in Will’s lap. Gentle fingers carded through damp hair, sweeping strands away from his temple.

“Will…” Hannibal’s voice was wrecked. “I’m sorry you had to see me…like this.”

Will gathered the other closer, an arm settling around him. “Don’t apologize, Dr. Lecter. You’ve seen me at my worst. We’re just even now.”

Hannibal hummed as Will rubbed up and down his arm. His body felt heavy like the kind of relaxation that happens just before sleep. Will thought he wouldn’t mind watching over the other. Sleep was overrated anyway.

“I prefer when you call me Hannibal,” he said his voice breathy. “Besides I think my current position requires us to be…on a first name basis.”

This pulled a small laugh from Will. He watched Hannibal’s eyes close as he stroked the side of his face with the pad of his thumb.

“Hannibal,” Will said, liking the way the way the name sounded a loud. “I…um…would you like me to stay with you? I mean…I could drive you home when you feel up to it--”

Hannibal reached up to touch the hand that still rested against his cheek and curled fingers around it. After a long contented sigh Hannibal settled in. He seemed content to stay that way and Will found he didn’t mind one bit.

“I would like that, very much.”

~~~


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: 
> 
> I promise I, for one, will never, ever get sick of the stuff you write for the Hannibal fandom! (In reply to your comment about sickfics being repetitive). Also, if you're ever looking for prompts, I'd love to read about Will having a panic attack and throwing up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted over at [little-known-secret](little-known-secret.tumblr.com) my new side blog. 
> 
> At first I was a little wary of doing this one because a.) I'm pretty sure Will having a panic attack has been done to death in this fandom and b.) its almost kinda canon that Will has panic attacks and since when is anything I write remotely canon but neither of those were really good reasons so...
> 
> Here's a little one shot, post fall, about Will having a panic attack and Hannibal trying not to look to worried.

~~~

Some evenings were quiet.

They past the hours in a kind of comfortable silence. Hannibal lounged contently on the couch, nose buried in a book, eyes raising now and then above its cover to peek at Will as he fussed and prodded the burning embers of the evening’s fire, turning the logs over and stoking the coals that fell.

When Will returned to Hannibal’s side he brought the smell of the fire with him. Hannibal found himself taking a deep breath, his eyelids slipping shut for a moment as he picked apart the tones of smoke and hickory and sweat. It was more intoxicating than the glass of merlot he had left forgotten on the coffee table.  

In an exaggerated motion Will lifted Hannibal’s legs so he could sit. An eyebrow was raised mere millimeters in his direction before the other settled his legs across Will’s lap, taking up more space than was necessary.

“Would you rather I move?” A slight smile curved into Hannibal’s lips. He watched the reflection of orange flame in Will’s glasses and it stirred something in him.

“No. It’s fine. I’m perfectly comfortable.” Will said, but the sarcasm fell flat. He sucked in a deep breath as if he had been holding it.

The change in him came on fast. Hannibal began to detect his anxiety by scent. It was one he had burned into his memory, and if he was being honest, the smell alone was enough to make him just the smallest bit anxious.

Will shivered. The early warning signs were there. His chest felt heavy, like he couldn’t get enough air. Will was already a few steps deep into damage control at this point. He had closed his eyes attempting to dull at least one of his senses. He tried to become aware of his breathing, tried to take deep long even breathes. In and out. In and out.

But none of it was working.

He kept catching himself forgetting to breath altogether. And then he would gulp a mouthful of air but it never felt like enough. He was overly aware of the way his heart was pounding its way out of his chest and up into his throat. Will swallowed thickly.

Wordlessly, Hannibal placed a heavy hand against Will’s chest, making him jump a little at the contact. He didn’t say anything at first. He let Will acclimate to the weight of his palm, and then, “A slow breath, try to push against my hand.”

Will did as he was told, but his breath hitched into a shuddering gasp. He was too far gone already.  The lack of oxygen was making him dizzy. A tingling burn was rising up his arms and his legs like prickly heat. He swallowed thickly and shuddered.

“I can’t breathe.”

“You can,” Hannibal said reminding him to draw in another breath by rubbing circles into his chest, “and you are…but your breathing is too shallow.”

“Probably because…I can’t f-fucking breathe.”

Will squirmed under the weight of Hannibal’s palm until he removed it. He hunched forward, elbows perched on his knees, head in his hands.

The room was spinning now, pitching and swaying with every rapid beat of his heart. Will swallowed hard. His shouldered tensed and his face flushed with heat.

Hannibal was at attention now, his book forgotten on the floor. He placed a soothing hand at Will’s back and began to rub in between stiff shoulder blades.

“You should try to sit up straight,” he coaxed, “It will be easier to breathe.”

Will straightened up only to have his vision blur.

“I think…I think I’m gonna black out…”

Hannibal hovered close, a cool hand alight on the side of Wills cheek.

“Just listen to my voice, Will,” he found himself saying, making a conscious effort to keep his words steady. “I can guide you through. Do you trust me?”

“I …yes.” Will floundered for a moment. Another trembling breath and he put his head between his knees.

“You need to slow your breathing. I can help you but–”

“I can’t…” Will stuttered. “I feel sick…”

Nausea rolled through him. It was like getting hit by a wave, unavoidable and sudden. His face was burning hot, cold sweat breaking on his skin. The urge to gag weighed heavy in the back of his throat like a lump he couldn’t swallow. His breathing had changed over from intermittent gulps of air to shallow panting, fast and shaky.

Hannibal slipped Will’s glasses off his face. He pushed curls off his forehead, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat. And he thought how much he truly despised being as helpless as he was in this moment as Will shook and shivered. Perhaps if he had access to a proper pharmacy he could have at least given Will somethi–

“It’s…it’s getting worse…” Will choked the words out, ending them with a rather wet sounding burp. “Ugh…I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He couldn’t swallow it back anymore. Will leaned forward, head hanging loose, long dangling strings of saliva streaming from his open mouth.

Hannibal put a hand on the back of Will’s neck. He felt his body squirm as he pitched forward to gag. It was quiet, just a small expelling of air as his stomach muscles seized. Will had only enough time for a rather pathetic sounding moan to escape him before he gagged again, breath stuttering at the end of it. He coughed and spit out more watery saliva.

He was vaguely aware of Hannibal rubbing his back. If he had still been wearing his glasses perhaps he would have caught the other’s worried expression as well. Right now, however, Will was only aware of himself and the complete rebellion of his entire body.

He was trying to remain very still. Any and all movement felt somewhat like being on a boat, causing the world to tilt and rock. For a moment he thought maybe he had gained a small bit of control back. That soon dissolved as another wave rolled over him, sickening and hot. He couldn’t last more than a few seconds before he retched. The sound echoed into the silence, deep and raw. Vomit slid down his chin in a watery yellow mess. It hit the carpet with a muffled sound.

Before he had a chance to catch his breath he heaved again, sick pouring from him like a putrid fountain, soaking into the carpet between his feet. Hannibal kept a hand steady at Will’s back but there was little else he could do but ride it out with him. It was almost infuriating. Hannibal ground his teeth, angry at his own helplessness.

Will was panting hard, vomit still hanging off his chin. His muscles seized and he gagged again, searing liquid forced up his throat, spattering into the pooling mess at his feet.

His lungs burned, desperate for air, but when he could snatch a quick breath it only made him cough and choke, white shreds of the chicken eaten for dinner getting caught up in his throat. 

Coughing triggered another wave of vomit, thick and viscous. Will squeezed his eyes shut. This part felt like more of an effort, as if it was too heavy to bring up. A final gag forced only a weak trickle of bitter bile.

Will let his shoulders drop, his breath coming in steady gasps. “Hannibal…” The name got stuck in his throat and was an inaudible whisper by the time he said it.  

A damp cloth was wiping the sick from his face and neck, and then arms were pulling him up onto the couch, guiding him to lay on his side. Will tucked his knees up against his chest, head finding its way into Hannibal’s lap.

“I’m here,” Hannibal said, doing nothing to mask the relief in his voice. He rubbed up and down the length of Will’s arm.

“I think…maybe it’s over,” Will’s voice still held a slight tremor in it. Hannibal hummed in agreement. The fire crackled, embers glowing warmly. They were both silent for a moment, staring blankly into the flames, Will feeling calmed by the sight of them.  

“I will get you some water,” Hannibal said motioning to get up. Will stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Can we just stay like this…for a few more minutes…please.”

Hannibal stilled. He pushed the damp curls from Will’s forehead to place a kiss there. 

“No need to even ask, love. I will stay as long as you like.”

~~~


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt:
> 
> Can you write something with sick Hannibal and like a boatload of angst. Basically make me cry
> 
> jaysop:
> 
> My emotions are all over the place right now nonny, and I thought perhaps writing would help clear my head, so I stared blankly at all the prompts in my inbox, because there’s no way I’m going to come up with something without some help right now, and I saved this one for just such an occasion.
> 
> Maybe this will be therapeutic like listening to depressing music when you're sad is therapeutic?  It is a continuation of the incarcerated murder husbands AU from chapter 10.

 

~~~

Nights here were difficult for Will.

Even with the passage of several weeks he still found himself waking every hour or so, opening his eyes to mild confusion at his stark and sterile surroundings. In the few moments it took for his sleeping brain to fully wake, he almost swore he felt one of his dogs at his feet, snuck up in bed during the night.

The truth was always like a punch to the gut when it finally came, and Will mourned bitterly when it hit him.

He missed his dogs. He missed every last one of them. He missed running with them, in the early hours of the morning when the sun barely makes it above the tree line, and the air is crisp and cool. So early that he always felt like he was cheating on the day, buying extra time before the rest of the world woke up with all their problems and their drama and their heartache.

He missed the river. He missed the breeze on his face, the sound as the water rushed passed him, the glint of sun through trees and the stripes of shadows that fell across the marsh. His heart broke again each time he remembered where he was and where he would be, inevitably, for the rest of his natural life. The river was nothing more than a memory half remembered from dreams that always ended too soon.

Will stretched out until fingertips met the side of the mattress. He rolled over on his side and stared blankly, eyes fighting to focus, until he could make out his own slight reflection in the glass. _That fucking glass_. He knew that just beyond the partition Hannibal was fitfully sleeping. It was a cruel punishment to be forced to see what he could never have.

Without his glasses the room was a wash of blurry gray but Will knew he was there. Muffled through the panes of glass he could hear him, perhaps talking in his sleep. What he wouldn’t give to climb into bed beside him, to feel the warmth of his touch, to quiet him, to not feel so utterly alone.

Silently, Will slipped out of bed, dragging the thin cotton blanket on the floor behind him. He sat cross legged in front of the partition, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He pressed his ear to the glass and held his breath, straining to make out Hannibal’s voice in the dark. What he caught was a long moan and the sounds of labored breath.

“Hannibal…” Will’s voice sounded rough from sleep.

There was no response from the other at first and then the blankets moved and Will watched as Hannibal sat up, slowly.

“I was awake and you…you were dreaming I think. I heard you…” Still there was no acknowledgment from the other man. He slowly swung legs out of bed and hunched forward, hands planted on his knees. 

The huddled form of Hannibal sitting on the edge of the bed looked small. He shivered and hung his head.

“Will…” his voice sounded thick.

“I’m here,” Will said his hand still pressed up on the glass. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” Hannibal said his words almost coming out slurred. Without much warning and before he could say another word, Hannibal lurched forward to dry heave into his cupped hand. A small gasp for air and he choked out, “I’ve been up for hours…I’m feeling a bit ill.”

Will found himself as close to the glass as he could be without becoming part of it, both hands flat against its cold surface.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I’m alright, Will,” Hannibal managed, “There’s nothing you can do.”

Nothing. It made anger burn in the pit of Will’s stomach. “I know…but I can stay awake with you…which is something.”

Hannibal breathed a heavy sigh. Will caught the slight glint of red eyes in the low light as he lifted his head.  He grimaced and doubled over, arm clutching his tender stomach.  

“Ah…I think perhaps…they are slowly poisoning us…” Hannibal said from between gritted teeth. Will scoffed.

“I think perhaps you just can’t stomach the, um ‘cuisine’ they serve in here,” Will offered a small smile and then mumbled, “God knows I barely can.”

“Calling it ‘cuisine’ is too dignified a term.”

Hannibal groaned as he rose to his feet. He wavered for a moment on unsteady legs, and then made his way over to the source of Will’s voice until his toes met the edge of the glass. He stopped and leaned against it, the small expedition from the bed to Will’s side having taken most of his energy. Slowly, he slid to his knees and then was eye to eye with Will, whose face was full of concern, eyes peppered with a glint of anger.

Hannibal let his eyes dip closed and leaned his forehead against the glass, quick shallow breath leaving circles of fog. Will reached up to touch him but was met with a barrier of inches, impenetrable and almost mocking him now.

“Hannibal, I’m here,” he whispered. The other opened his eyes lazily to look at Will, glassy gaze pleading with him silently.

“I miss it,” Hannibal managed between his panting breaths, “I miss…the feeling of you…”

Will swallowed hard. He let his head rest against the glass beside Hannibal’s, close enough to hear the quiver in his ragged breath but still unable to get to him.

“I miss it too,” Will said, feeling the sudden overwhelming urge to beat his fists bloody against the glass. Hannibal clutched at his stomach and hummed out another moan. “I want to be there. I could, _we_ could make that happen…we could both make it–”

“Will,” Hannibal’s eyes searched him. He coughed roughly into a fist. “If only that were true. But you and I, _we_ know the truth… and tricking the mind to think otherwise, well, it’s a piss poor substitute.”

Hannibal shivered and clamped his jaw shut. Will watched muscles tense as Hannibal grit his teeth, the act of talking having fueled his already overpowering nausea. He stifled another dry heave into his hand.

“Hannibal…please,” Will spoke gently. “just…let me do this.”

The only response was a whimpered sigh.

It wasn’t difficult to slip into the shared space of their minds, it had become second nature by now. Will took a deep breath and remembered the feeling of Hannibal’s skin against his fingertips, the weight of him as he leaned into Will, the smell of his hair, the touch of cold sweat on the back of his neck. 

“Shhh…” Will soothed, carding his hands through Hannibal’s messy hair. “I’ve got you.”

“Will…I need to be sick…” Hannibal managed, his eyes holding a light of panic in them, “very soon…”

“Alright,” Will said coaxing the other man to his feet. “Can you get up?”

Hannibal tried to right himself but soon froze, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. There was no point in fighting it any longer. He gave in to the first gag, leaving him with a handful of saliva. Will could feel the muscles spasm underneath his hands as Hannibal gagged again, this time planting both hands flat on the floor, still on his knees.

“Ok… you’re ok, “ Will said, trying to comfort him as he struggled through another bout of painful dry heaving. By this time tears that Hannibal had no intention of allowing were streaming from the corners of his eyes. He found he had no control over them, just as he couldn’t control the spasm in his throat that brought him to his knees.

His head reeled with the effort and in between gagging his body swayed. Will stayed close, holding Hannibal’s head up when he lurched forward again, the first dribbly bit of vomit squeezed up his throat to puddle in front of him on the stark white cement floor.

A gasp for air and Hannibal’s head lolled, his lips still parted, strings of vomit hanging from them. He gagged again. Frothy dark liquid poured from him and gathered into the puddle between his knees. Will could only watch as Hannibal continued to retch, the sounds he made echoing off the empty cell walls, more sick splattering onto the ground.

Hannibal coughed and sputtered, spitting into the mess. He could feel Will’s presence through it all, hovering above him, his hand rough and cool against his forehead. For a moment he thought perhaps he could push away from the sick that was soaking into the knees of his pants, until a fresh wave of nausea rolled through him.

With only minimal effort now Hannibal forced the rest up. He left his mouth open and hung his head and only waited moments before his stomach was emptying again. A few final heaves and Will pulled him back from the mess.

Hannibal felt heavy in Will’s arms, all dead weight, shaken and weak. For a long time they were silent, save the sounds of each other’s breath. Will’s touches were tender, rubbing gently across the curves of Hannibal’s stomach, waiting for his breathing to calm.

As real as it all felt Hannibal knew the truth. He knew Will wasn’t really rubbing underneath his shirt, wasn’t actually whispering to him, wasn’t really holding him to stop his shaking. That knowledge didn’t stop him from finding the crook of Will’s neck and pressing damp cheeks against warm skin. It didn’t stop him from whispering a quiet,

”Please… stay with me…”

Will held him, even as the harsh lights kicked on, announcing abruptly the beginning of another day, throwing into cold uncaring focus the mess left cooling on the floor, Hannibal curled against the glass partition, and Will watching over him on his own side of the wall. In the last few moments they had alone, Will whispered back,

“I would never leave you. I couldn’t even if I tried.”

~~~


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My dear emeto anon requested a carsick and miserable Will and I was only too happy to oblige. I'm on mobile of course so I can't seem to copy and paste our conversation but here is a long awaited and short little fic in which Will and Hannibal's relationship is very new and unexplored. Hannibal insists on driving Will home after he falls ill at a crime scene. Fluff ensues.

~~~

“Do…do you need me to…give you directions?” Will’s voice came out in between the shutters of a chill. He crossed his arms trying to hold himself together.

“I’ve been to your house several times, I think I know the way by heart.”

Of course he did.

Hannibal’s mind was like a steel trap. The question was born out of a feeling of uselessness that Will was currently fighting. He could do little more than sit still as they drove through the dark, Hannibal at the wheel like his god damn chauffeur.  

“Just rest, Will. I know the way.”

The soft shush of the heat as it turned on made Will instantly drowsy. His head dipped, tension releasing for a moment from tight shoulders. Street lights passed over them, patterns of light illuminating the car’s interior for brief seconds, enough to reveal Hannibal’s gaze as it flipped between the road and his passenger.

“I’m ok,” Will said, but sounding far from it. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window.

“You’re in shock.”

“I’m not in shock,” Will tensed again, fighting the fatigue that was pulling him under. He sucked in a deep breath that was cut off with a shiver. “I’m just over tired…haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”

“Will, what you witnessed today, it was not something to easily forget.” Hannibal’s voice melted the tension. It didn’t seem to matter what he was saying, its tone and cadence was like warm bath water.  Will felt himself floating in it.

“I’ve seen worse.”

Now that was a lie. The crime scene had been particularly brutal, the carnage alone was the stuff of nightmares, but for Will it went so much deeper.

He could still feel the blood wet between his fingers, the resistance of a blade carving through flesh and hitting bone. Red droplets of spray dotted his face, obscured his glasses, left a tang of silver aftertaste on his tongue.

A short moan and Will curled into himself, hair hanging in his eyes, swallowing back bile that had crept up his throat. He shivered in the dark, curls loose and trembling.

With all the dexterity and skill of a contortionist, Hannibal slipped an arm out of his coat, and then the other, the car kept steady without so much as the slightest swerve. He handed it over to Will to use as a make shift blanket.

“Try to breathe, Will. Clear your mind and focus on my voice.”

Hannibal’s words lingered in the air between them. Will tried to breathe but his lungs seemed to protest.

He pulled Hannibal’s coat under his chin. It was surprisingly soft, no doubt cashmere, still warm with body heat. Will forced another deep breath, the scent of Hannibal’s cologne filling his senses.  He thought for a moment how nice it would feel to be close like this with him. To find out what his skin smelled like.

The thought was abruptly pushed from his mind as if it was something vile, something forbidden. Something he _should not_ be thinking.  A sharp pain cut into his side and Will doubled over, a protective arm clutching at his tender stomach.

A heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder. Hannibal didn’t say anything. His touch was tender, fingers splayed across his back, gently rubbing him.

Will’s face burned with embarrassment.

He shouldn’t be having these thoughts, he shouldn’t be feeling this way, not about a colleague, not about his _psychiatrist_ no less. Wasn’t it an overused cliché to fall for your doctor? Is that was this was? An illusion of his senses, a subconscious reaction to sharing parts of himself that he never dared speak of to another living soul.

“Shush,” Hannibal whispered, as if he somehow heard Will’s racing thoughts. “Think about getting home, Will. Think about seeing your dogs, lying down in your own bed.”

Will straightened up. Hannibal’s hand fell from his back and returned to the wheel.

”I can’t…” He mumbled.

“That’s not true,” Hannibal cooed, eyes flashing to Will for a moment and then back to the road. “You have a rare gift for visualization. Guide your thoughts. It can be any place, somewhere you feel at peace. ”

Will shivered, pulling the coat tighter around himself. Maybe he really was in shock. His hands were like ice against his stomach. He forced a deep breath and set his eyes out onto the road.

Hannibal stole a glance, camouflaged by the road’s sudden lack of street lights. He watched as Will set to clenching his teeth, his breath coming in short little puffs, eyes staring straight ahead.

“Be mindful of the thoughts that intrude, Will. Let them go. See them at a distance.”

Will closed his eyes again, Hannibal’s voice soothing like warm honey. He could almost feel the heat of the other’s breath, as if the words were spoke close to his cheek.  What would it feel like to have those words whispered across his skin? To be embraced and held against his chest?

It would feel wonderful. And safe. And…somehow inevitable.  

Like surfacing from underwater Will’s senses flooded back. He was shaking, sweat dripping from the tips of damp curls, falling into his eyes, burning them. His breath was ragged, cheeks flushed.

“Will, “Hannibal was speaking to him, “It’s alright, I’m here.”

Panic gripped him like fingers wrapped around his neck. He swallowed hard as fire crept up his sides.

The car slowed and Hannibal gracefully guided it to a stop on the shoulder. The bell chimed as he unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over towards Will, a hand coming to rest flat against his forehead, pushed under damp hair.

“It’s alright,” Hannibal whispered, “Your pulse is racing. You are feverish. But it will pass.”

Will pulled away and flinched as a wave of nausea passed through him. Shame rushed into his cheeks, touch starved and hollow shame.

He was imaging it, that’s what this was. He was fabricating the whole thing. Hannibal didn’t care for him any more than he would any of his patients. He couldn’t possibly feel the same _dull ache_ that Will felt. He was ridiculous to even consider it. Hannibal was just doing what any decent person would do for a friend. Just a random act of kindness for a sick colleague, nothing more.  Will closed his eyes and grit his teeth as his stomach churned inside him. Guilt burned into his face.

He was about to repay Hannibal’s kindness by being sick all over the back of his cashmere coat.

Will tried to stifle the gag into his palm, but warm viscous liquid shot through his fingers. He pulled his hand away in disgust, vomit clinging between his fingers like webs.  

“Ohmygod…I’m sor–”

Before Will could finish another heave had him lurching forward, warm sick spilling from him, pooling in his lap. Will gasped for air when it was over, panting and shaking, so afraid to turn his eyes to the other, terrified of seeing disappointment and revulsion in Hannibal’s face.

Hannibal leaned towards him and put an arm at his back. His fingers crept underneath Will’s hair line and rested at the nape of his neck.  He was whispering shushes to him, trying to calm him. Will closed his eyes and tried to slow his breath. 

Wills back arched in an awkward spasm as he retched again, unable to control the sounds that ripped through his throat and had him gurgling as vomit poured from his lips. The sick that had pooled in his lap splashed onto the floor in between his shoes.

Will wanted to cry. He wanted to hide. He couldn’t stand the feeling of Hannibal’s eyes on him, seeing him like this. He gagged again, head lolling, vomit and saliva trailing from his lips.

Hannibal had begun to rub his back, or maybe he had been doing it the entire time, Will wasn’t sure.  He was still whispering to him, telling him he would be alright, telling him that it was almost over. Will finally turned to look at him. He met Hannibal’s eyes, soft creases around the edges, looking back at him with concern.

“I’m sorry…about your coat…” was all that Will could force out.

A slight smile crept into the edges of Hannibal’s lips. He popped his door open and came around to Will’s side of the car, to gingerly peel the coat from him, discarding it on the shoulder without hesitation.  

“Hold onto me,” Hannibal instructed, lifting Will out of the car. Will did as he was told.

Hannibal’s warmth felt solid against his side. Weakly, he wrapped an arm across broad shoulders, letting himself be carried to the backseat.

“Really…I’m sorry I ruined it…” Will said, embarrassment still apparent across his face.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Hannibal soothed, “Clothing can be easily replaced.”

Once Will was settled, Hannibal sat next to him and closed the door.  

Torn between the disbelief of what was happening and the longing to be close, Will didn’t move. He let their legs touch. Without a word, Hannibal coaxed Will into his arms.

And Will fell into the embrace. He let himself be held. He let Hannibal rub broad strokes across his back, slow and soothing.

Perhaps he was hallucinating again. Perhaps none of this was actually real. So it wouldn’t matter if he closed his eyes and took a long breath, holding the scent of Hannibal’s skin deep in his lungs. It wouldn’t matter if he edged closer, wrapping an arm around the others waist. It wouldn’t matter is he sighed, shoulders relaxing, his cheek pressed to the crook of Hannibal’s neck.

“Why…why are you doing this?” Will found himself asking, voice muffled against Hannibal’s skin.

“Do you want me to stop?“

Will shook his head no, burying it deeper under Hannibal’s chin.

“No…I don’t want you to stop.” Will forced the words out between the tremble of a chill. Hannibal had shut the car off and without the heat and the cover of his coat Will began to shiver.

“You’re freezing cold. I will turn the heat back on,” Hannibal said motioning to get up. Will held him there, unable to let go.

“I’m sorry…it’s just…” Will’s words trailed off. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say or how to even say it. But he knew he wanted Hannibal to stay. He knew with every fiber of his being that he didn’t want to let go. “It’s just been a long time since…well… a _really_ long time since anyone’s held me this way.”

Hannibal drew him in closer, and placed an unexpected kiss against a feverish forehead. He rubbed up and down his back, trying to warm him.

“It’s alright, Will. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Will felt his cheeks flush with color.

“I’m not ashamed,” he said, drawing his legs up on the seat and settling in to Hannibal’s embrace. “I’ve wanted this…for a long time now. I just…I didn’t know if you wanted it too and I–”

Hannibal silenced him with a long finger to his lips and a soft hush. “Of course I have Will, from the moment I met you, I have.”  

Will finally relaxed. He was all dead weight against Lecter’s side, still delirious with fever but now almost giddy. “So what now doctor? What happens next?”

“We wait for as long as you need, and then I drive you home,” Hannibal said, fingers weaving in and out of Will’s hair, brushing the strands from his eyes. “And I will stay with you tonight, that is, if you want me to.”

Will let out a long contented sigh. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.

“And tomorrow?” Will asked, his words slurred and drowsy.

“And tomorrow,” Hannibal said, still carding fingers through Will’s hair. “Tomorrow I will make you the best breakfast you’ve ever had.”

~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Thoughts and comments are highly appreciated <3
> 
> also on tumblr  
> [jay-sop](http://jay-sop.tumblr.com)  
> [little-known-secret](http://little-known-secret.tumblr.com)


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